Dark Channel
by Marie Kollman
Summary: Renegade John Shepard made the hard choices that no one else would, but paid a heavy price. With the Reapers destroyed and a new threat facing the Sol system, Shepard is needed more than ever. Now a patient in an Alliance mental facility, he must convince those closest to him that he's not insane and is fit for duty. The question is, is he right?
1. Chapter 1

**Day three, 1300 hours**

"Immediate assistance to room five! _Hurry!_"

An ear-splitting alarm blared over the voice on the intercom as the facility manager and supervisor burst out into the corridor – the manager cursing that he hadn't finished his sandwich – and raced toward room five, just as they had an hour earlier. The facility's newest patient was proving to be a real handful, but the staff was determined not to give up on this very special subject.

He _was_ a living legend, after all.

"Worker injured! Everyone _out!" _the female voice shrieked over the intercom, and the two men who'd had their lunch break interrupted picked up their pace, arriving at room five just as the emergency doors came down, trapping their latest acquisition within.

"Bastard broke it!" one of the workers complained, blood oozing through his fingers as he held onto his nose like it was about to fall off.

"You've had worse from shaving, Scot," his female co-worker scoffed and then, noticing the two new arrivals into the room, she straightened up, as did the rest of the staff.

"What happened this time?" demanded the supervisor, stepping closer to the two-way mirror which afforded him and his staff a view of their patient, who glared back at them with eyes like glowing coals.

Scot's partner, Octavia, sighed and rolled her shoulders. "We tried to take his food in, sir. He accused us of poisoning it and said he'd rather starve than perform like a 'fucking circus animal' for us. Scot made a joke and then the guy just went berserk and started lashing out at us." She glanced at the window and shivered before turning away. "I can't even _look_ at him. His eyes… those scars… talk about creepy. How did he end up like that?"

"His state of mind, stress, among other things," answered the manager before everyone jumped back as the patient lunged for the window and started pounding it with his fists.

"You think I don't know you're watching me?" he yelled, eyes aflame with fury. "You think I don't know who you _are?_ How long do you think you'll be able to keep me here? The Alliance will come for me, and when they do, they'll tear through your fat asses like tissue paper! And I can't wait to see _that!"_

The supervisor shook his head before activating the intercom. "Commander Shepard, as we keep explaining, we _are _Alliance-"

"Bullshit!" raged the patient. "You're Cerberus, every last one of you!"

"There _is _no Cerberus! You finished it!" the supervisor argued. "The Illusive Man is dead – you shot him on the Crucible. Do you remember telling Admiral Hackett?" he asked, softening his voice a little.

"No! You put that in my head!" accused the commander, spittle flying from his mouth and adhering to his chin. "You're trying to make me crazy because you want to study me! I'm special because you _couldn't_ indoctrinate me! Well, you just keep it up, because people are on their way here and you're all gonna die! Study _that!"_ he ranted before arranging his hand into the shape of a gun and pointing it at the two-way mirror. "Bam! That one's for Anderson! And this one's for Chambers! And _this one's_ for Williams! I've got a bullet right here for every one of you murdering bastards!"

The manager cut off the audio. "This isn't working," he said impatiently, turning to the other workers. "Take a break," he ordered. "And get that nose fixed up, Scot."

The workers filed out of the room, leaving the two men alone. They watched as the deranged commander renewed his assault on the mirror, and noted that their patient's hands had started to bleed.

"He's gonna break the screen, or one of his hands. Release compound RS-757 into room five, fifteen parts per trillion," ordered the manager, and a light winked on the console in front of them before a hissing sound was heard.

Gradually, Shepard's movements slowed and he shook his head before clutching it and staggering to his bed, where he slumped onto his belly, one arm and leg hanging over the edge. "Pussies!" he rasped into the pillow.

"We'd better get in there before he suffocates or drowns in his own drool, sir," said the supervisor dryly.

The manager nodded. "All right. One more try, and if we have no luck, we'll move on to stage two. We need to start getting results, quickly. This is _Shepard_, for god's sake."

~o~O~o~

**Day three, 1430 hours**

His eyes slowly opened and the first things he saw were the two floating white masks, as he had yesterday, and the day before. Well, those masks would get as much information out of him today as they had on previous days.

"You are Commander John Shepard," said the smaller of the men, whom Shepard had deduced was the manager, as the other man called him 'Sir'.

"You gonna tell me _your _names? Your _real _names?" the commander slurred, and the two men looked at each other.

"We've already told you," the manager replied calmly, "but you heard something different – what your mind _wanted _you to believe."

"Right." Shepard snorted and rolled his eyes. "Tell me again. Maybe my crazy, fucked-up brain will process it correctly this time."

The manager nodded and released a quiet sigh. "All right… my name is _Harbinger_ and this is my colleague, _Leviathan." _

Shepard laughed derisively. "Whatever. Play your little games. I'm remembering every second of this. You're gonna pay. Big time."

"Commander, we're going to be straight with you," began the supervisor.

"Oh, really? Straight? You give me false names. I can't see your faces. You've masked your voices. How the hell is that being _straight _with me?"

"Your vision's blurred because of the sedative we had to release into your room after you attacked our staff again," answered the supervisor. "You can't hear our voices properly because we're wearing masks so that we don't inhale the sedative. We _haven't _given you false names. We've been over this. We're _trying _to help you."

"Then let me go. Simple."

The manager shook his head. "It's not simple at all. You're mentally unfit and have been sent here for treatment. This is a dedicated Alliance facility. We deal with PTSD, Combat Stress, alcoholism, drug addiction and various other trauma-induced conditions. We have a ninety-six percent success rate. We're the best there is."

"Well, I don't have any of those things," Shepard drawled, woozy from the effects of the sedative. "So what the hell _am_ I doing here?"

The manager – or _Harbinger_ as he called himself – sighed and ventured a quick glance at his colleague. "I don't know if you're ready to hear this yet, but we've tried our best to keep you safe and comfortable here, and we've attempted standard therapy without success. If you'll listen, Commander, I'm going to tell you the truth."

Shepard closed his eyes and said nothing.

The manager cleared his throat. "We've determined that, during your campaign against the Reapers and your attempts to assemble the fleets, you were indoctrinated-"

"Like hell!" growled Shepard, struggling to move but he found he couldn't because he was tied to the bed. "So Cerberus – puppet of the Reapers – is telling me that the Reapers indoctrinated me? What kind of half-baked crap is that?"

"Commander!" interrupted the supervisor, his tone sharp. "You need to listen! Do you _want _to spend the rest of your days arguing with us, angry, frustrated and jacked up on drugs? Because we don't want that for you! You're a goddamn hero to us and everyone you fought to save on Earth! We want to see you get better but we can't do anything while you continue to fight _us! _We're not the enemy here!_"_

"All right," muttered the manager, touching the supervisor's arm. "Let's all calm down here. Commander. We have irrefutable proof that you _were _indoctrinated by the Reapers. Cerberus knew this and used it against you. We'll show you the proof if you want. You chose to destroy the Reapers and when your connection with them was severed, you suffered a psychotic break. Cerberus and the Reapers were so deeply entrenched in your mind that when the Reapers _were_ destroyed it was too much, and your mind detached itself from reality as a coping mechanism. Your delusions that we are working for Cerberus and name ourselves after Reapers are _also _part of that coping mechanism."

"Your mind has created a new reality," explained the supervisor. "Cerberus's attempts to indoctrinate you were so gradual, so insidious, that the sudden withdrawal-"

"Get your story straight before you try it out on me," Shepard snapped. "If I was indoctrinated, why the fuck would I _destroy _the reapers? And you think _I'm_ crazy?"

"But you _did_ destroy them," answered the manager.

"Yeah. Which means _no_ indoctrination. Quit wasting my time. I'm done with this." Shepard again closed his eyes.

"Well, that's the amazing thing," the manager said with admiration in his voice. "Somehow, despite everything the Reapers and Cerberus did to you – which I'll remind you we have evidence of – you managed to fight it, to do the right thing when it counted. We've reviewed the transcript of your debriefing, and found several instances of attempts at indoctrination within. Electronic devices were found on board the Normandy, and are still being studied. Cerberus did its utmost to fully indoctrinate you but it didn't quite work. Either that, or it _did _work and you're the first person to break the control Cerberus, and the Illusive Man, had over you."

"Commander, we'd like to show you that evidence," offered the supervisor. "We believe it'll help you adjust to reality – _true _reality, and not the one your mind has manufactured."

"I _said _we're done here," the commander said through gritted teeth and, despite further attempts from the other two men to get him to talk, Shepard refused to utter another word.

~o~O~o~

"I guess it's stage two, then," decided the manager once they'd left Shepard's room.

"Hey, look on the bright side – this is the part of the plan we were most optimistic about," the supervisor replied as they walked along the corridor to finish their lunch. "We bring in a couple of his friends, the ones he trusts the most."

"I think I know just the people. No more than two for now." They reached the staff room and took a seat at a table.

"Absolutely. And I think I know which two you mean," said the supervisor with a smile. "Someone who's been with him right from the start, has never let him down and has been to hell and back with him."

"Yeah," nodded the manager, also smiling. "Plus, someone who was there during the final assault – also someone Shepard's grown very close to. He might not have been there from the beginning, or on the SR-1, but Shepard trusts him completely and they've spent almost every waking moment together during the last several months."

"I agree." The supervisor rose and grabbed a coffee before joining the manager, who was finishing off his sandwich. "Should we tell him, or just bring them in?"

The manager considered that for a minute before shrugging. "I think we should tell him they're here and then send them in right away. Hopefully seeing them will be like a slap across the face to him – in a positive sense."

"He was a lot calmer with us this time," the supervisor observed. "You think we're getting through to him?"

"I hope so. We can't fail on this. He is _not _going to be one of the four percent."

A thoughtful silence fell and the two men quietly finished their lunch before rising and heading for the exit.

"And what if he doesn't respond to seeing his friends?" asked the supervisor. "Or doesn't believe it's really them?"

"Yeah. I was hoping you wouldn't ask that. We'd better be ready for anything."

~o~O~o~

**Day three, 1700 hours**

"Commander Shepard," said Scot via the intercom, and the commander made an obscene gesture with his finger at the two-way mirror. "I wanted to say thank you for not trying to bust my nose this time. As a treat, we've brought in a couple of friends for you."

"Visitors?" Shepard snorted. "Who? The Illusive Man's ghost? The Reaper child? It didn't work the first time. What makes you think it will again?"

"Uh… no, Commander. I'll just send them in. Please try not to… well, they've been waiting a long time to see you. Try to be nice to them, okay?"

Shepard sprang up and approached the two-way mirror. "You don't tell me who to be nice to – I decide that. And, as you obviously don't know, I don't _have _any friends. You don't assemble a fleet comprised of sworn enemies by being _nice _to people. So I'd really like to see who these so-called 'friends' are."

"Well, why don't we just-"

"I'm getting real tired of hearing your voice, _Scot_," sneered the commander. "Go ahead and send in your clowns. But don't expect _me_ to perform for you."

With a quiet sigh, Scot worked the console and the door to Shepard's room slid open. The commander turned away from the two-way mirror and stared at his visitors without speaking as they cautiously entered, staying close to the door.

"Hey, Commander," Joker said quietly. When Shepard didn't answer, Joker quickly glanced at James Vega, who stood beside him, before speaking again. "Uh… nice place you got here. White. Never seen so many shades of white in one place before."

Shepard remained quiet and stony-faced as James took a few steps inside and looked around. "How you holding up, Loco?" he asked casually.

"I _told_ you before, no nicknames, Lieutenant," Shepard replied sternly, folding his arms. "I shouldn't have to repeat myself."

James snorted and pulled out one of the chairs at the table before turning it backwards and sitting on it. "See?" he said to Joker. "What'd I tell you? Nothing wrong with _him."_

"Okay, Commander… I'm gonna sit down," said Joker, slowly moving to the table. "Just promise not to go on a murderous rampage or anything? 'Cause that'd kinda suck after surviving the Collectors _and _the Reapers."

He sat opposite James at the table and both men studied the commander, who stared back at them, suspicion in his eyes. "What are you doing here?" Shepard asked them. "And where _is _here? They claim I've been here for three days but I don't remember anything before today."

"Well, apparently we're the closest you have to friends," answered James. "You _can_ be kind of a dick, sir, but we're here. Nobody forced us to come."

"And to answer your second question," Joker added, "this is the Alliance nuthouse."

James scowled at Joker and shook his head. "It's a _hospital._ They deal with, you know, mental issues. People who have breakdowns and stuff."

"Yeah, like I said," muttered Joker, rolling his eyes.

"I didn't have a goddamn _breakdown_," asserted the commander.

Joker sighed and rested his chin on his fist. "Yes, you did. We saw the vid-"

"Vids can be doctored, Joker."

"It _wasn't _doctored," the pilot replied in exasperation. "You lost it during your debriefing with Admiral Hackett. He was asking you questions and we could see that you were getting pissed, ya know? Then you just… you just started _whaling _on him. Lucky his bodyguards were there to pull you off of him. What the hell happened, Commander? What did he say to set you off?"

"Whatever they've shown you is a lie," Shepard insisted in a harsh tone. "I _didn't_ attack Hackett because I didn't _survive_ that long. I was caught in the Reaper's sights just before I reached the beam – you tend to _remember_ that kind of shit."

"Oh, so we're all sitting around in heaven, debating whether or not you're insane?" James scoffed, his brow wrinkling when Shepard's expression turned distinctly hostile. "All accounts show that you narrowly avoided the Reaper's laser – it hit something else and you were caught on the edge of the blast. You survived long enough to reach the beam and transport to the Crucible."

"_What_ accounts?" Shepard barked. "The entire fleet was decimated! So I missed the journalist taking cover behind a pile of dead bodies to capture that crucial moment? Oh, yeah – I missed it because I was _dead."_

"The fleet _wasn't _decimated, Commander!" James shot back. "Hammer, absolutely. No question. But about a third of the main fleet survived. And how can you be here if you're dead?"

"I _was _dead. They did something to me," hissed Shepard, jabbing at his temple. "Cerberus put me back together once and they've done it again. There is _no way _I survived that blast. There is _no way _I reached the Crucible. Think about it! I get torn apart in the blast, but somehow make it to the beam, kill the Illusive Man, talk with some… some _ghost_ child and calmly and rationally discuss a new solution to the Reaper threat? That's far-fetched even for Cerberus!"

"Commander, you _told_ Hackett that was what happened!" Joker exclaimed.

"I told him that because it was all I could remember, but I've had time to _think!" _Shepard replied heatedly, his eyes glinting. "That was what Cerberus _wanted _me to believe. They planted it in my head, and by the sound of it, they planted it in yours, too! I can't believe you swallowed their bullshit!"

James leaned forward in his chair and pointed at the commander. "If none of that happened, then _how _did you destroy the Reapers?"

"I don't know! I don't have all the answers, okay? And what's with all the questions? You're as bad as-" He stopped dead, his chest heaving, his face drained of colour. "Of course," he muttered to himself. "The questions, the acceptance of Cerberus's spiel… you're indoctrinated!"

"Oh, man," James groaned, shaking his head and giving Shepard a pitying look.

"Seriously?" Joker contended. "From what I hear, _you're _the one who's indoctrinated. And this paranoid shit you're spewing is doing nothing to persuade us otherwise. You need _help_, Commander. And this is the best place to get it."

"I didn't mean _you,"_ Shepard said to Joker before turning to James. "You… Cortez… Traynor… you were the only ones I wasn't sure of, didn't know well enough… you could have been working for Cerberus the whole time! It all makes sense now!"

"Hey, that's enough!" James yelled, jumping to his feet and slamming his palm against the table. "Say what you want about me but Esteban – my friend? Is still MIA, if you even care! And did you ask how Hackett is after you beat on him? The rest of the crew? You know EDI's dead, right? You ever consider any of that while you're living in this fucked-up fantasy world of yours?"

"_You're_ the one living in a fantasy created by Cerberus! I did _not _beat on Hackett!" Shepard raged, and Joker also stood up, clasping James's arm to steady himself.

"Let's go," he said sadly. "I don't think we can help him, James."

"You're not going anywhere," Shepard ordered, moving to the table and stopping a foot in front of James. "You're going to give me some answers, Lieutenant. What are you and Cerberus trying to pull, here? Were you trying to indoctrinate me the whole time, even when you were my bodyguard? I told you things back then that nobody else knows! I trusted you, you bastard!"

He staggered back as James's fist slammed into his nose and, enraged, he launched himself at the brawny marine, his hands closing around James's throat. "The truth, Lieutenant!" he bellowed.

James grabbed at Shepard's hands in a desperate attempt to loosen the commander's grip. "I-I'll… gyark! Break your f-fucking…ack!"

"Commander!" Joker yelled. "Hey, someone! We need help in here!" Realising that no one was coming to his immediate aid, Joker hurriedly limped to the fighting men and forced himself between them. "Quit it! You want to kill each other?"

"Stay out of this, Joker!" Shepard commanded and he tried to push the pilot away with his elbow, but caught the other man on the cheek and Joker backpedalled in a daze, almost falling over a chair, but he grabbed a nearby bulkhead at the last second.

"Damnit, Commander!" he complained fiercely, clutching his chest and gasping as he stabilised himself. "What the hell, man? I almost fell! I know you're messed up, but I'd like to keep my spine in one piece, all right? Jesus!"

Horrified by the thought of what could have happened, Shepard temporarily relaxed his grip on James and then nausea and pain flared in his head as the lieutenant butted him between the eyes and shoved him hard against a wall. Shepard reached out and found something to steady himself on and, when the pain had receded, he opened his eyes in time to see the doors opening and James assisting Joker through the door.

"Joker," Shepard croaked, feeling like he was about to throw up. "Joker, I'm-"

"We're done!" James shouted hoarsely with a hateful look at the commander as he rubbed his neck. "You've always been a cold son of a bitch but I was still proud to serve with you. Now…I'm _ashamed._ Good luck with the craziness thing. Hope that works out for you." He turned his back and wrapped a supporting arm around Joker's waist as the facility staff brought the doors down.

"Wait!" Shepard blurted, a hitch in his voice. He slumped onto his bed, head in hands. He remained there, his posture sagging, for a few minutes before he scrubbed his face and looked at the two-way mirror. "Is anyone there?" he asked unsteadily. "Tell him… _them… _I'm sorry. No… just Joker. Or… I-I don't know. I… don't know what's real anymore. I don't know who to believe. This has gone far enough."

On the other side of the mirror, Scot cut off the audio and looked at the manager and supervisor, who stood beside him. "A breakthrough?" he asked his superiors.

"We'll see." The supervisor leaned forward and touched the intercom. "What do you want us to do, Commander? You've resisted all our attempts to help you. You've attacked not only our staff but your own friends as well. What do you _want?_ How exactly are we supposed to _help_ you?"

"I… I wanna see the evidence."

"Evidence of what?"

"You said you had evidence that I was indoctrinated. I… wanna see it. I need to make sense of this. What's going on in my head."

The manager and supervisor shared a tentative smile, and the manager leaned in close to the intercom. "Are you going to be open-minded about this, Commander, or have you already decided that we've fabricated the whole thing?" he asked.

"What the hell do you care? Just show me the damn thing!" Shepard ordered.

The manager once again severed the comm link. "I'll take that," he said to his colleagues.

~o~O~o~

**Day three, 1900 hours**

"So, where are the _Reapers?"_ Shepard asked as he was wheeled into a room he'd never seen before, which was filled with monitors.

"You mean _Leviathan_ and _Harbinger_?"

Shepard craned his neck and looked over his shoulder at Scot, who put the brakes on the commander's wheelchair and checked the buckles on his straightjacket. "_You_ call them that as well?"

Scot looked confused for a second. "Call them what? Ah. I guess you're still hearing what you want to hear, Commander."

"Aren't you getting tired of all these games?" Shepard demanded, struggling against his bonds. "And is this really necessary?"

Scot pulled up a small chair and placed it next to the commander, sitting down upon it and clasping his hands together. "I'm afraid it is. You can't be sedated in here because you need to be clear-headed to watch these vids. And, well, we can't quite trust you yet." He sighed and touched his nose, which was _not_ broken but was badly bruised. "I don't take any pleasure in seeing you like this, Commander. Hell, I owe my life to you. Every one of us does. And I take no pleasure in what I'm about to show you. This isn't going to be easy for you to see. I'm… sorry, sir."

"You're a hell of an actor, Scot, I'll give you that," replied Shepard with a dubious look at the other man. "So, where are they?"

"If you're referring to _Harbinger_ and _Leviathan,_ they have other patients to attend to."

"So you're trying to indoctrinate _other_ Alliance personnel? For what purpose?"

Scot groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Commander… actually, I shouldn't even be calling you that. We're doing it out of respect."

"_Why_ shouldn't you be calling me that?"

"Because you've been temporarily relieved of duty on medical grounds. Your Spectre status has also been revoked, pending the outcome of your treatment."

Shepard laughed, not sure why he was doing so, but realised it was the first time he'd done so in several days, possibly weeks. "So I'm just plain old Mr. Shepard, huh?"

Scot shrugged. "Pretty much, at least until you're declared fit for duty. But… if you don't mind, I'll still call you Commander. It doesn't feel right otherwise."

Shepard frowned and silently remonstrated himself for finding Scot a pretty decent guy. He _wasn't._ He was Cerberus and he worked for two men who named themselves after Reapers but made out that they didn't. Scot – if that was even his real name – was anything _but _decent.

"Let's get this over with," Shepard grumbled, refusing to meet the other man's eyes.

Scot nodded once and activated his omni-tool. At the same time, each monitor flickered into life, displaying a paused vid of Shepard and Admiral Hackett sitting at a conference table in a large room.

"Yes, Commander," answered Scot.

_**Thank you for reading!**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Sincere thanks to Liso66 for her dedicated brainstorming, and to all of you for reading, favouriting and reviewing.**_

_**Spoilers for Mass Effect: Leviathan in this chapter.**_

~o~O~o~

**Day three, 1945 hours**

"_We're nearly done, Commander," said Admiral Hackett, leaning across the table, clasping his hands together and carefully eyeing Shepard, who appeared distracted. "I expect you'll want to get some sleep. God knows you've earned it, and then some."_

_Shepard nodded slowly, his brow marred by a heavy frown._

"_We'll recap and call it a day," directed Hackett, running a finger down his data pad. "I need you to confirm that you fired the bullet which killed Admiral Anderson – albeit, I accept, while under the influence of the Illusive Man."_

_Shepard stared at the desk without answering, and Hackett watched him in concern. "Commander?"_

"_No," answered Shepard gruffly._

"_No? What do you mean?" Hackett questioned. "Do you wish to change your statement?"_

Scot paused the vid and looked at Shepard. "What happened there, Commander? Why did you change your mind about what happened with Anderson?"

Shepard gave Scot a cold glare and growled under his breath. "I changed my mind because I realised that it couldn't possibly have happened."

"But you just told Hackett that it did happen," argued the other man.

"I _do_ have ears," Shepard snapped. "My mind was foggy. I was exhausted. I told him everything I could remember, and then I realised something was wrong."

"And what was that?"

Shepard stared at the monitors and took several minutes to answer. "Anderson _couldn't_ have reached the Crucible before me. He was behind me, co-ordinating what was left of Hammer. I _remember_," he avowed firmly. "When Hackett started his recap, it became clear to me that everything that _supposedly_ happened on the Crucible, _didn't."_

Scot's expression remained impassive as he nodded. "So you're confirming that this conversation took place, Commander?"

"I'm not confirming anything. I told you I'd watch this so-called evidence, _not_ that I'd answer any questions."

"Okay," Scot replied, deliberately keeping his voice calm. "You're in control here. Let's watch the rest of it." He resumed playback of the vid.

"_Commander," Hackett prompted. "Do you wish to change your statement or not?"_

_Shepard again gave no answer and continued to stare at the desk, his shoulders heaving. One of Hackett's staff, who had been standing guard by the door, took a step forward._

"_Commander, I require you to respond," Hackett ordered sternly and Shepard's head snapped up. "Shepard," Hackett said in a softer tone of voice. "I understand that this has been an ordeal for you-"_

"_You don't understand at all," Shepard rasped, an odd note to his voice, his hands clutching the edge of the table. "You weren't there. You didn't see what I saw."_

"_That is why we are conducting this debriefing. We need to understand what it is you saw and experienced. If you're unsure about anything, I need to know now."_

_Shepard's body sagged and he sank back into his chair, once again providing no response._

_Hackett sighed. "We'll resume in the morning. Lieutenant Jessop," he said to the staff member who'd stepped forward, "escort the commander to his quarters. Have Dr. Chakwas visit him."_

"_No! __This isn't right!" Shepard yelled, springing to his feet and, resting his palms on the table, he leaned over Hackett. "I'm not going anywhere!"_

"_Sit down, Commander," said Lieutenant Jessop, stepping next to Shepard, one hand on his sidearm. _"Please_, sir."_

_Shepard's eyes flitted around the room and he slowly took his seat, his chest falling and rising rapidly._

_Hackett nodded at Jessop, who stepped back but remained watchful. "All right, Shepard," he began in a gentle tone. "We both know you're exhausted, but there's something else. What can I do?"_

"_Tell me what I said."_

_Hackett tilted his head slightly in confusion. "About?"_

"_About-about Anderson, and about the Crucible, and the Reaper child. Tell me what I said," he blurted out._

_Although gravely concerned by the commander's behaviour, Hackett remained poised and touched his data pad. "According to your own words, Commander, you shot Admiral David Anderson in the abdomen while under the Illusive Man's influence. You had a conversation with Anderson before he died from his injuries. You then spoke to what appeared to be a child who claimed to have control of the Reapers. This child gave you three choices. You chose to destroy the Reapers and put an end to all synthetic life."_

"_And you _believe_ that?" Shepard questioned, suspicion lacing his words._

_Momentarily at a loss for words, Hackett cleared his throat. "I have no reason to doubt you. You're an Alliance officer."_

"_What, it doesn't sound wrong to you? Far-fetched? Impossible?"_

"_Explain yourself, Commander," Hackett ordered, his patience waning. "This is _your_ version of events, and now you're telling me it's wrong? Shepard, what the hell is going on?"_

"_Anderson _couldn't_ have been on the Crucible," hissed Shepard, pointing at the admiral. "There _was_ no Reaper child. None of it happened. How could it? What… what are you people doing? Have you got me strapped down in some lab again?"_

"_Commander, you're not making sense," Hackett warned._

"_Can't you see?" asked Shepard in disbelief, his voice increasing in volume. "I didn't even reach the Crucible! I couldn't have! I was caught in the Reaper's blast! Why don't _you _tell me what the hell's going on here, Admiral? If it really is you?"_

"_That's enough, Commander!" Hackett exclaimed angrily, rising to his feet, and Shepard followed. As he did so, Jessop again stepped forward, along with the other man who'd guarded the door. "It's my opinion that your exhaustion is affecting your reasoning, Commander. You're dismissed. We'll finish this tomorrow," the admiral ordered before looking at Jessop. "Have Dr. Chakwas meet the commander in his quarters for an evaluation." _

"_Yes, sir," replied Jessop._

_Hackett looked back at Shepard. "You'll let her check you over, Commander. Is that understood?"_

"_No, I won't!" Shepard bellowed before clutching his forehead, an agonised expression coming over him. "W-what's…? I'm c-cold. Dark… I-I don't take orders from you, because you can't be Admiral Hackett! We can't be here!" he ranted, looking up at the older man, his eyes wild. "None of this is real, is it? Answer me, Cerberus!"_

"_Get him out of here," Hackett commanded in a resigned tone._

"_Unless… unless you _are_ Admiral Hackett and-" Without warning, Shepard clambered over the desk and lunged at Hackett, grabbing him by the shoulders. In the confusion, both men crashed to the floor and Hackett's guards rushed to pull the commander off the admiral, but not before Shepard had landed a few punches._

"_I said get him out of here!" Hackett yelled from the floor. His guards struggled to restrain the commander, who fought fiercely to free himself but both guards caught him in a firm armlock._

"_I can't believe they've gotten to you!" screamed Shepard as he was dragged from the room, kicking out with his legs. "You, of all people! Hell, no one is safe now! Somebody listen to me! Admiral Hackett is indoctrinated! You're all indoctrinated! Somebody _listen_ to me!"_

Scot, who'd been carefully observing Shepard's reactions to the vid, noticed the commander lurch forward in his chair.

"That didn't happen!" Shepard protested heatedly. "I did _not _attack Hackett! Goddamnit! What is the point of all this? What are you trying to accomplish?"

"So you don't remember that part?" asked Scot cautiously.

"I don't remember because it didn't happen, asshole!" Shepard shot back.

"Sir… it _did_ happen. We've been given full access to your personal logs, your omni-tool data-"

"On whose authority?" demanded Shepard.

"Admiral Hackett's," sighed Scot. "He's fully co-operated with our requests. He, like the rest of us, wants to see you recover. Would you like to know how he is?"

"Oh, I get it," Shepard sneered. "If I ask how he is, then I'm admitting that what you just showed me is real. You wanna know where you can cram that, Scot?"

Scot watched as Shepard's face fell, then, as he caught sight of something on the vid, which had continued to play throughout their conversation.

"Commander? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Shepard answered immediately, his eyes glazing over. He was not about to confide in Scot – he'd tell Joker what he'd seen, instead.

Scot watched the vid for a moment and, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, stopped playback. "Help me out here, Commander. You say that you didn't attack Hackett, or don't remember doing so. Where in the vid does your memory fail you? Which part of it doesn't seem real to you, or is 'made up', as you say? Where does that transition happen? Some of it must have happened, because you didn't react until the part where you attacked the admiral."

"And why should I help you?" Shepard demanded, realising that he couldn't actually remember what had happened at the end of the debriefing. "All you've done so far is try to fuck with my head!"

"Commander!" interrupted Scot. "Listen… I'm not supposed to say anything, but…" He paused and looked around before lowering his voice. "Hackett needs you back on active duty ASAP. I can't say why – I shouldn't even be telling you this – but we _have _to help you. We can't do that, though, unless you help _us_. I'm on your side, sir. I'm not trying to screw with your mind, just to help you through this difficult time." He shrugged and suppressed a yawn. "I don't know what else to do. We don't have much time."

Shepard watched Scot for a moment, realising that the younger man had been on duty since early that morning. "You'll have to give me more to go on than that before I start trusting you."

"I _can't,"_ urged Scot. "I wish I could but I can't go over the supervisor and manager's heads. It's my ass if they find out."

"Do you agree that this should be kept from me?"

"That's irrelevant, Commander."

"Did Admiral Hackett order you not to say anything?"

Scot blinked, surprised by how clear-headed Shepard sounded. "No, but-"

"Then what if I order you to tell me?"

"Sir, you've been relieved of duty," Scot reminded him.

"And yet you continue to call me 'Commander'."

Unable to hide his weariness, Scot yawned loudly and rubbed his face before sitting back in his chair. "It's not that simple. You understand the chain of command. I have to accept that my superiors know better than me."

"Do you believe that I'm insane?" Shepard asked pointedly.

Scot groaned and folded his arms. "I believe… you've endured extreme conditions and trauma. Sometimes, in those circumstances, the mind shuts down temporarily. In most cases, however, recovery _is_ possible with proper care. As for your question… in my humble opinion, no, you're not insane. Not in the true sense. A temporary loss of control, inhibitions and boundaries, certainly. But, no, Commander Shepard. You're not insane."

"I'm glad we agree on something," said Shepard, mirroring Scot's position by sitting back. "If I'm not insane, then I'm still fit for duty. And I order you to tell me why Hackett needs me so urgently."

Scot shook his head. "I'm sorry, Commander. It was Hackett himself who relieved you of duty, and I'm not prepared to go over _his _head. But…" He glanced at the monitors, deep in thought. Maybe if Shepard knew, he'd have something to focus on?

"But?"

Scot looked back at Shepard. "Well, maybe I don't _need_ to tell you. Maybe there's a way for you to figure it out for yourself."

Shepard nodded approvingly. Although he still didn't trust Scot, he could see he was easy to manipulate. "I like your style, Scot. What do you have in mind?"

Scot watched him warily for a moment, apparently weighing up his decision. After a minute, he leaned forward and entered a command into the console. The view on the monitors changed to a vista of Earth and its surrounding space. Among the debris of destroyed Reapers, countless ships remained in orbit, forming a halo around the planet.

"What am I looking at?" asked Shepard.

"The remaining fleet," Scot answered, holding a hand up to stay Shepard's argument. "The fleet _wasn't_ destroyed, Commander. A lot of the ships actively engaging the Reapers, and the Hammer teams in London, sadly were. But once the Crucible was fired up, most of the remaining vessels made for the relay to escape the energy pulse that destroyed the Reapers. A lot of them made it. Some, however, didn't get to the relay in time, but their crews survived as the Reapers were no longer a threat."

Shepard leaned forward in his chair and struggled to sit up due to the constraints of his straightjacket. Scot rose and stood behind Shepard before hooking him under the arms and pulling him up.

"Thanks," muttered Shepard as Scot returned to his seat. "Okay, let's say those ships _did _survive. That's good, isn't it?"

Scot yawned for a second time before sighing. "It's good that those people didn't die, sure. But that leaves us with a problem. Actually… calling it a 'problem' doesn't even come close."

"Explain."

"Well, see for yourself." Scot entered another command and the visual moved to the Sol relay, which was nothing more than a burned-out shell. After a minute to absorb what he was seeing, Shepard made a quiet exclamation and once again leaned forward, his mouth wide open.

"They can't go home," he mumbled. "Fuck, they're all stranded here…" He caught Scot's eye and, while the younger man did not confirm Shepard's statement, the look on his face said it all. "The Salarians, the Turians, the Krogan… how many, Scot?" he demanded breathlessly.

"We don't have precise intel at the moment, but early estimates put the number not indigenous to the Sol system in the tens of thousands, sir. And resources on Earth are scant as it is. Priority is rightly being given to hospitals, facilities such as this one and care of the wounded, but the men and women on those ships are going to wind up starving to death once their own supplies are exhausted. There just aren't enough resources to go around – even if there were, some of those races can't eat our food."

"And the Sol relay can't be rebuilt overnight, assuming any of the _other_ relays will be rebuilt," Shepard added as he continued to stare at the monitors, the enormity of the situation sinking in. This was_ real_. No matter what Cerberus had done to him, and whether he was insane or not, this _must _have happened if the Reapers – and subsequently, the relays – had been destroyed. And the Reapers _were _destroyed. How else could he be here?

If only he could remember _how _they'd been destroyed_._

His memory had betrayed him, had pumped out the nonsense Cerberus had planted in his head. The Crucible, Anderson, the Reaper child – they _couldn't _have happened. Anderson had _not _reached the Crucible before him. _Shepard _hadn't reached the Crucible at all – the Reaper had stopped him just before he'd reached the beam. He _remembered._

Then what _had _happened afterwards? Why couldn't he remember that? Why couldn't he remember what had happened at the debriefing?

His face contorted as a shard of pain stabbed into his temple and Scot jumped to his feet. "The headache again, Commander?" he asked, moving to a cabinet and preparing a hypo.

"No!" Shepard cried, writhing in his chair as he tried, and failed, to wriggle out of the straightjacket.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I have to," uttered Scot, his voice growing indistinct as Shepard felt a brief, sharp pain in his arm.

"N-no drugs!" Shepard blathered, his eyesight fading as a black void filled his head.

He felt cold, the kind of cold that came from within, the kind that nothing could ever warm. He drew a ragged breath and slowly opened his eyes, expecting to see the stars above him, or the familiar walls of his cabin surrounding him.

But he didn't.

"What?" he breathed, realizing that he was standing in Dr. Bryson's lab. "How-"

"Shepard, I believe I've finished compiling the nav points. Would you like to review my data?" asked EDI, who was standing a short distance from him.

Shepard slowly looked around, blinking as he tried to understand why he was here. He carefully reached out and ran his fingers along the cool metal of the desk top he stood next to. It felt solid… real.

What was happening? Was he dreaming? He felt a pain in his arm and rubbed it, the sting his touch elicited jolting forth a memory. Drugs, sedation drugs most likely, and he knew he was still in the mental facility – or at least his _body_ was. He again looked around and, finally meeting EDI's eyes, he sighed. The AI – who'd become a valuable and respected member of his crew – was watching him with that familiar _detached curiosity_ of hers. A strange, and contradictory, expression if applied to a human, but it was EDI to a T.

And he'd destroyed her.

This couldn't be a dream. He was thinking too clearly, recalling events with pinpoint clarity. In fact, he couldn't remember feeling so lucid since the push for the beam in London – before everything had got fucked up in his head. Or was fucked up by something – someone – else.

No, he wasn't dreaming. Was he remembering something?

"Hey, Loco, need a hand?" asked a familiar voice.

Shepard turned his eyes to the far side of the room and spotted James near the research table. Definitely a memory, he realized – he was reliving his time tracking down Leviathan.

He scrubbed his face. "I'm good, Lieutenant," he replied before approaching EDI. "Show me what you've got," he instructed her, finding he was unable to hold her gaze.

He'd destroyed her.

It played in his mind like a movie: the conversation with EDI, the discoveries within the lab and what those items implied about Leviathan's true nature, but while the scene played out exactly as he recalled, something began to bother him.

He tried to focus on the niggling question, tried to help it form, give it shape, but each effort triggered a stabbing pain in his head, fast and dull at first, soon blossoming into something vicious. By the time the trio was ready to leave the lab for the Normandy, the pain was constant and near blinding.

On the way out, he stumbled and James caught his elbow.

"Commander, you sure you're all right?"

He shook his head, the pain distorting his vision, and James looked at him with concern. "Hey, look at me!" the bulky soldier ordered, patting Shepard's cheek.

Suddenly, Shepard understood what was wrong. "James?" he slurred. "Why are you here? Why would you be help... hel..."

He closed his eyes and the cold, numbing blackness returned.

"Commander!" called a distant voice and someone was shaking him. "Shepard? Sir, you need to wake up!"

He shivered and tried to push against whoever was holding him – they needed to stop, he had to get free, the cold was becoming unbearable.

"Commander!"

With a gasp he opened his eyes, the black and cold gone instantly and light filling its space. He was panting, sweating, and he spotted Scot hovering above him.

"Thank God," Scot breathed. "He's back! Okay, let's clear the room, give him some space!"

Shepard coughed and wiped his brow, watching as several medical staff filed out of his room, Scot hesitating at the door.

"You scared us, Shepard," the other man rasped. "We'll let you sleep, but I've got you connected to a few monitors for safety's sake."

"What happened?" Shepard whispered.

"You reacted badly to the sedatives, but we got it countered in time," Scot replied, punching the panel to open the hospital room door. "Get some rest, sir, and I'll check in on you in a few. Lieutenant Moreau is scheduled to visit you in the morning – I think seeing him will do you good."

Scot stepped out of the room and the door hissed as it closed. Outside, the supervisor and manager were waiting, having watched the entire scene through the two-way mirror.

"You're doing well, Scot," complimented the manager. "I think you're gaining his trust."

"Uh… how long have you been there, sirs?" Scot asked his superiors, panic scalding his gut.

"Long enough to hear you tell Shepard about the stranded fleet," said the supervisor, folding his arms. "We weren't planning on doing that yet. We feared it might be too soon."

"Yeah, uh, about that, I-I-" Scot babbled before the manager held his hand up.

"Actually, it seemed to give him some purpose. And it's hardly a secret, anyway. Just run any ideas like that by one of us in the future, okay?"

"Yes, sir, of course," Scot sighed in relief. "Thank you."

"Go get some rest," ordered the supervisor.

Scot frowned before clearing his throat. "I will, sir, but I promised to check on him in a few hours," he said, looking through the window at Shepard, who was tossing and turning in his bunk.

The manager slapped Scot's arm. "Okay, but be careful not to get too attached to him. We aim to have him out of here as quickly as possible."

The supervisor also looked at Shepard through the window. "I understand, sir, but I think he's had enough for today. I recommend holding off on the devices until morning."

"Agreed," said the manager. "Scot, you'll assist us with that. Meet us in the briefing room at 0630 hours."

Scot saluted the two men, who walked away, leaving the younger man alone. He continued to watch Shepard for a few minutes before activating the intercom.

"Try to settle down, Commander. I have to admit, you scared us there. I thought you were in real trouble."

Shepard sighed and closed his eyes, seeing James's face behind his lids, just as he'd seen him lurking outside the door at Hackett's debriefing, and had remembered the lieutenant's inexplicable appearance at Dr. Bryson's lab.

"I think I am."


	3. Chapter 3

Despite the sedatives in his system, Shepard got very little sleep that night. His mind was wired and was relentless in its dissection of the previous day's events. Some of the theories he came up with seemed over the top even to Shepard, and he tried to apply logic and common sense, tried to take a step back and view each of those theories with a critical eye, but no matter how many meandering paths his mind took, it reached the same irrefutable conclusion each time.

It was James. It was all James.

How could he have been so blind? How could he have been taken in so absolutely by the man he once called friend?

He wasn't insane. Scot had told him that. Was he paranoid? No. The evidence against James was staggering, overwhelming. It was obvious to anyone with a brain in their head.

Why, then, wasn't it obvious to everyone else? Why couldn't the people at this Cerberus-masquerading-as-Alliance facility see it? Why couldn't Hackett see it? Joker?

Simple. They were all in on it. They were all indoctrinated!

"No, not Joker," he mumbled as he sat on the edge of his bed, which was neatly made up – he might be in a nuthouse but that was no reason to let his discipline slip.

Joker _couldn't_ be in on it. But if he wasn't, then Shepard's theory was destroyed.

"It doesn't _matter_," he said angrily to himself, annoyed that he'd allowed his resolve to waver. "Joker isn't even in the equation. No… he just trusts James, like I used to. He's been taken in, same as me."

He ignored the quiet voice in the back of his mind that told him he was making excuses, that if everyone was indoctrinated then Joker must _also_ be. That maybe even _Shepard_ was indoctrinated.

"Damn it!" He pushed himself away from the bed and started pacing the room, which he was sure was smaller than it had been last night. He was beginning to feel hemmed in, trapped. He needed to get out, and he was needed by the Alliance.

He'd decided, during one of his sleepless spells, that he was going to play along with Cerberus. He'd tell them exactly what they wanted to hear, would accept any 'evidence' they showed him. And then he'd tell Joker in private what he _really_ thought. Joker would then see the truth and would bring the Normandy crew to spring him from this place. Then Shepard would expose James for who he really was.

He nodded, pleased with his plan, and stopped pacing before taking a seat at his table and arranging the several pieces of paper he'd scrawled on during the night. More evidence to present to Joker. Tenuous evidence, maybe, but nevertheless a link in the growing chain of damning evidence against his former bodyguard.

"Bastard," Shepard muttered, an unpleasant churning in his stomach. He might have been pleased that he had so much evidence against James, but he still felt hurt by the betrayal.

"Good morning, Commander," said a chirpy-sounding Scot over the intercom. "Did you enjoy your breakfast?"

Shepard glanced at the untouched bacon, omelette, fruits and energy drink on the tray atop the table and grunted.

"Oh… well, did you get any sleep?" asked Scott hesitantly.

"Not much."

"Sorry to hear that, sir. Lieutenant Moreau will be here shortly to visit, but I can postpone it if you want-"

"No!" Shepard interrupted before taking a deep breath, surprised to feel a pang of guilt for snapping at the affable young man. "No… I really need to see Joker. Hey," he went on, turning to face the two-way mirror. "You seem like a good kid, Scot. I don't know what's really going on here, but I know we're not going to get anywhere unless I start co-operating. I want you to know that I appreciate what you did yesterday. And if it means anything, I'm… sorry for being a jerk." He shrugged and sighed, realising a small part of him actually meant it.

After a moment, the door to Shepard's room slid open and Scot entered before slowly approaching the table. "May I sit with you?" he asked the commander.

Shepard nodded once.

Scot took a seat opposite and clasped his hands together on the table. "It's good to hear you say that, sir. Now, I don't know if you're just telling me what I want to hear or not…" He held up his hands as Shepard began to protest, and he leaned forward, lowering his voice. "You're not an idiot, Commander. I'd do exactly the same if I were you. Whatever the reason, I think co-operation is the best way to go, even if it's not genuine. I don't want to see you in here for a second longer than is necessary. You should be back on the Normandy, where you belong."

"If you're trying to set me up, you can-"

"I'm not," said Scott earnestly. "I just want to help you. Everybody here does. Today, _Leviathan _and _Harbinger _are going to show you something that'll be difficult for you to accept. I want you to seriously consider that they're telling the truth. Even if you find you can't, at least try to _look _like you believe them. You won't get out of here until you do."

Ignoring the fact that Scot had referred to the facility manager and supervisor as _Reapers _again, Shepard smirked and shook his head. "What is this, Scot? Good Doctor, Bad Doctor?"

"I'm not a doctor," the young man refuted. "_Leviathan _and _Harbinger _are, though, which is why they might seem a little… distant. They have to be, in order to administer the right care without becoming emotionally attached to patients, which might affect objectivity. Me, I'm just a lab rat, but I get to know the patients. Those two might make ten times what I do, but I wouldn't change a thing. I love my job – look who I get to meet," he finished with a smile. "I can't wait to tell my little brother that I actually _talked _to Commander Shepard. And it's thanks to you, sir, that I still have a little brother. He's ten and he idolises you. He's got a model of the SR-1 and he's your executive officer. Oh, and you still killed Saren, but he softened him up for you," he chuckled, making a fist and punching his palm.

Shepard half-smiled and sighed, feeling conflicted. He was usually a good judge of character and was finding it difficult to dislike Scot. Then he remembered how James had duped him. Maybe he wasn't such a good judge of character after all? "Why do you insist on calling them that?" he asked with more curiosity than hostility, referring to the men named after Reapers.

Scot's eyes darkened slightly and he also sighed. "I… I'm just calling them by their names, sir, but you seem to be hearing something else."

Shepard leaned forward and fixed Scot with a hard look. "I'm not just hearing it. I can see your lips moving. I am _not _imagining things. You're here, making nice, yet you're still trying to mess with me. Are they telling you to do this? How do you feel about that? Do you like _this _part of your job as well?"

Scot sat quietly for a minute, sadness in his eyes as he looked at Shepard. "I don't know what to tell you, sir. I'm just saying their names." He pushed his chair back and sighed again before heading for the door. Before he left, he turned back to Shepard. "They told me to report it if you mentioned the names again. I'm… not going to say anything. Just try not to question them about it. I really do want you to get out of here, Shepard. Seeing you like this… it's not right."

The door slid open and Scot shook his head before stepping through. "Please, try to eat something," he coaxed. "I'll send Lieutenant Moreau in when he arrives – should be here in ten minutes."

Shepard was still staring at his breakfast when the door opened again and Joker stepped inside, remaining next to the door as it closed. Shepard rose, his mouth suddenly dry as he recalled nearly knocking his friend over the day before. He shook his head, not even wanting to think of the consequences if Joker had fallen.

"Hey," said the pilot coolly, his chin tilted slightly upward.

"Hey," Shepard answered, not moving from the table. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I just need to know – should I have worn armour this time, or, y'know, a bouncy rubber body suit or something?"

"Joker, about that… I'm sorry. You know I wouldn't do anything…" He rubbed the back of his neck and gave Joker a rueful look before moving his chair to the far side of the room and sitting down. "Look, I'll stay right here. I really appreciate you coming by again, and I'm not going to do anything to screw it up. I promise."

Joker frowned, wondering at the commander's tone and posture. This was Shepard, the hardest son of a bitch in the galaxy, and he was slumped in a chair, eyes cast downward, like a whipped puppy. And the Shepard Joker knew probably _had _whipped a puppy or two somewhere along the way, if it had meant completing the mission and getting things done.

"Damn right you're lucky," he began, keeping his tone light as he approached the table and took a seat. "I can't imagine the entertainment in here's much to write home about, not unless staring at white walls and drooling rocks your world. So I figured I'd give you something else to look at, maybe stop you from going crazy. Well, crazi_er_."

Shepard looked up, relief washing over him as he nodded at Joker, but he couldn't quite smile. "You came on your own?" he asked. "Weren't you worried you might be hurt again?"

Joker shrugged. "Nah, not really. Anyway, who's the guy with the test tube up his ass?" he asked, thumbing toward the two-way mirror. "He's all 'Flight Lieutenant Moreau this', and 'Flight Lieutenant Moreau that'," he elaborated, pulling a face and gesticulating with his hands.

"They can hear everything you're saying, you know."

"Well, good," Joker said, looking up at the ceiling and cupping a hand to his mouth. "The _name _is Joker!"

"I'll be sure to tell them," Shepard replied before sighing. "It's good to see you. I… need to talk to you. About James."

"Oh, man," groaned Joker. "Please tell me you're not still having delusions about him working for Cerberus? Because that's about as likely as Wrex winning the Miss Phoenix Massing beauty pageant. No – it's more likely he'd _enter _the damn thing in a pink tutu."

Shepard began to stand and then, remembering he'd promised to stay put, sat back down. "Scot?"

"Yes, Commander?"

"I need to speak to Joker in private," he stated. "How would we go about that?"

A brief silence ensued before Scot answered. "I'm afraid that won't be possible, sir, not after yesterday. I have to consider Flight Lieutenant Moreau's safe-"

"For crying out loud, it's Joker!" interrupted the pilot. "It was an _accident. _He's not going to hurt me!"

"Well, uh, _Joker_," said Scot over the intercom, "I'll need you to sign a release form…"

"I'll sign it on the way out!" Joker snapped with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "Jeez!"

Another, longer silence followed before Scot spoke again. "Commander, I'm going to trust you. Please… just don't do anything. Please. I can give you fifteen minutes. And don't tell _Leviathan _or _Harbinger _or it'll be my ass."

"I appreciate it, Scot," answered Shepard before the comm was cut and four red lights, situated in each corner of the room, winked out.

"Quick," Shepard said to Joker, leaning forward in his chair. "Scan the room."

"What? What do you mean?"

"They took my omni-tool off me. I can ask for privacy when I'm doing certain things, but I don't trust them. If they want to secretly watch me take a crap or a shower, then that's fine, but I _don't _want them listening in on this conversation."

"Riiiight." Joker stood up and, with an impatient sigh, moved to one corner of the room and started a scan with his omni-tool.

"The _whole _room," Shepard ordered.

"I know! Just give me a minute, okay?" snapped Joker as he continued. Shepard fell silent but stood up and followed Joker around, watching his friend intently until the scan was complete.

"Okay, there are several cameras and listening devices, but they're all offline. Looks like test tube guy's on the up-and-up," Joker concluded before retaking his seat.

Shepard nodded but he did not sit down, nor did he appear to relax.

"Let's have it, then," Joker demanded sceptically. "What _about_ James?"

Shepard's mouth tightened, and he leaned against a wall, folding his arms. "I want you to listen to me, Joker. No interruptions, no sassy remarks. Just for once in your life, listen."

"Fine," he replied, sounding like a bored teenager.

"First, I want you to answer a question," Shepard began. "When Scot asked me not to tell anyone about giving us privacy, which names did he say?"

"Uh… hell, I don't know," Joker mumbled, caught off-guard. "Doctor… Radley? Or something like that. The other one began with P. Pickwick? I dunno. I wasn't really paying attention. Why? Is this a pop quiz on my time here? I could have used a heads-up if that's the case."

Shepard felt his stomach drop and decided against saying anything further on the matter. "Never mind."

Joker craned his neck and watched as the commander stared at the wall, lost in thought.

"Shepard?"

"Hm?"

"You were going to say something about James?" Joker prompted.

Shepard nodded, trying to regain his composure as he broke into a sweat. He'd been so sure of himself only a short time ago, but… how the hell could he be hearing something different from Joker? From everyone else?

"Right," he began, quickly going over his theories in his head. "Just listen. No interruptions."

"I _am _listening! Maybe you'd better get started, because we have, like, seven minutes of privacy left?"

"Okay." Shepard nodded again, more emphatically this time. "When the Reapers first attacked – when Anderson and I were waiting for you to pick us up? I… saw this young boy. He was hiding. I tried to coax him out, but he wouldn't move. He was scared. We had to leave him behind but I saw him board one of the Alliance shuttles." He fell quiet and once again stared at the wall.

"And?"

"And… the shuttles didn't make it out. I watched them explode right in front of me." He glanced at Joker, whose expression was sober. "I started to have dreams about him. At first I thought it was just my mind trying to figure things out, but after a while I started to see a pattern. I dreamed about that boy every time we encountered a Reaper."

"Okay," Joker said. "That'd make sense. The boy was killed by a Reaper, and each time you fought one, you were reminded of him."

"That's what I thought as well," Shepard continued, "but… there's something else. I have a _memory_. I'm calling it a _memory_ because I'm not convinced it's real. Somebody planted it in here," he insisted, tapping his head.

Joker folded his arms and nodded, his expression unreadable. "Uh-huh."

"That boy, Joker… it was the same boy I saw – no, thought I saw – on the Crucible. It was the same damn kid! How could that be if he died?"

"What, you're saying that what happened on the Crucible was some kind of dream?" Joker asked, looking concerned.

"I don't _know. _All I know for sure is that each time we encountered a Reaper, James was there with me."

"Wait a minute, Commander. James was there each time because you took him along on _every _mission. As I remember, you called him a _hell of a soldier_," he said, affecting a deep voice to imitate Shepard's . "You were there one time, in the mess, raving about him and about how many times he'd saved your ass. Remember?"

"Yeah, I remember that," Shepard answered, shaking his head. "How could I not see?"

"See what?" Joker demanded with growing impatience.

"I used to get headaches whenever I was around him. Whenever I went down to the hangar."

"You're a biotic!" Joker exclaimed in disbelief. "You've always gotten headaches!"

"No… these were different. They started not long after I first met James and they continued all through the campaign against the Reapers, each episode more intense than the last. It was always when he was around."

"And that's your proof he's working for Cerberus? You don't think maybe he'd used too much muscle rub and you were sick from the fumes? He was always bathed in that crap! Hell, I could smell him from the cockpit!"

"This is serious, Joker," Shepard reprimanded.

"You could have fooled me," sniped the pilot. "Is that it? Or do you have any more 'evidence'?"

"Yes, I do," said Shepard sternly. "When EDI and I were investigating Dr. Bryson's death, James showed up at the lab – just when we were starting to pick up Leviathan's trail. He had no good reason to be there, Joker," he insisted, jabbing a finger against the desk. "He knew nothing about the investigation, or at least he shouldn't have, because I didn't tell him a thing. He appeared just when we were going to tap into Ann Bryson's link to Leviathan. Why? Why did he show up then?"

"Because he was a nosy bastard? Because he was bored? Because he was a nice guy who wanted to help out? Come on, Commander – James wanted in on _every _mission you went on. A couple of times when you didn't take him, he _pouted _the whole time. You know why? Because he looked up to you. When he got his N7 nomination I thought he was gonna explode, and that was because he thought, maybe, in some way, he'd be as good as you. You're his hero, Commander, and you always have been."

"No, I don't buy it," Shepard argued. "I never saw any evidence of that. If anything, he was often disrespectful and a little too ready with his opinions."

"And why do you think that was?" Joker asked, his exasperation clear. "Because he didn't want to see you harmed! Can you imagine how much pressure he put himself under? He was bodyguard to _Commander Shepard_, his hero, and then was serving with him on the Normandy! You've made some crazy-ass decisions over the years, and we've all argued with them for the same reason! Yeah, okay, I know those decisions have usually worked out, but you gotta admit, sometimes it seemed you were signing your own death warrant. James disagreed with you because he didn't want to see your ass handed to you while he was supposed to be _protecting_ you! Just think for a minute!"

"Yeah? Well, if he _admires _me so much, why isn't he here today? Why can't he look me in the eye, Joker?"

"You are un_believable," _Joker seethed through gritted teeth. "Don't you remember what happened yesterday? You accused him of all kinds of shit and then almost choked him! And he hit _you!_ Do you have any idea how that made him feel? He couldn't even talk on the way back. His hands were _shaking. _Oh, and yeah, just one more thing," he said snarkily, twirling his hand with a flourish, "when we got back we heard that Cortez isn't MIA anymore. He was found. _Dead._ But I guess that doesn't matter because you got your _theories. _I think I'm done here._"_

Joker started to stand, and Shepard walked over to the table, blocking his path. "Wait… Cortez is dead? How? Where?"

"Where? He was found in London among the wreckage of the shuttle he crashed _trying _to hold off the Harvester that was going for you! As for how, does it really matter?" he asked angrily. "According to you, Cortez was Cerberus too, which I guess means he got what he deserved. _Excuse _me, Commander. I need to leave."

Shepard stepped aside to let Joker past but, just before the pilot reached the door he surged forward. "James was there at Hackett's debriefing," he blurted out, stopping just short of making bodily contact with Joker. "I saw him on the vid. I had some kind of blackout – my head started to pound and I felt cold, just like Ann Bryson had described when she was controlled by Leviathan."

"So?" Joker demanded.

"It was the same sensation I'd had every time I was with James, just much more intense. When I came round I was in a cell and they were telling me I'd attacked Hackett. I didn't know what the hell was going on. And then I watched the vid – the doctored vid – which showed this so-called attack, and James was right outside. What was he doing there? Can you explain _that?"_

Joker's eyes narrowed slightly and he backed against a wall, just in case Shepard lost his shit again. "Wait a minute. You're saying that James was in the vid, and then you're saying that the vid isn't real. Make your mind up, Commander. It's either real or it isn't."

"No, I-I don't mean…" Shepard rubbed his forehead, his eyes blinking rapidly.

"Either you didn't attack Hackett – meaning that James wasn't there – or you _did _attack him. Which one is it, Commander?"

Shepard's face slackened and he looked at Joker in utter confusion, realising, to his chagrin, that he had a point. "I don't…"

Joker crossed his arms, his expression hard. "You want me to tell you what really happened? Yeah, James was there. I know that because I was _also_ there. We knew you weren't a hundred percent, and we wanted you to see a couple of friendly faces when you left. It wasn't too difficult for Liara to learn where the debriefing would be. Wait, you _do_ remember Liara, right? She's the blue information dealer you haven't linked to Cerberus – _yet_."

Shepard stared silently at Joker, his chest heaving, and Joker edged closer to the door. "You _did _attack Hackett," the lieutenant insisted. "We heard everything outside. Next thing we knew, you were being dragged out of the room, screaming that we were all indoctrinated. Some guy ran up and stuck a syringe in your arm, and you were hauled off. Damn, Shepard, you busted Hackett's cheekbone and he's no spring chicken, man!"

"No, I didn't!" Shepard yelled. "What was James doing outside? Did he have a device of some kind? Did he activate his omni-tool? He did _something _to me!"

"He didn't do anything!" Joker shouted back. "You have to stop this, Commander! James is a good guy and right now he's messed up about Cortez and about you! You know what he really needs? For his commanding officer to get his shit together and _support _him, just like you used to! Right now, James is walking around like a zombie and nobody knows what to say to him! What _can_ we say? He needs you, Shepard! He needs you to say sorry, to have a good fight with him and take him out for a drink. We _all _need you to do that. We're… well, we're like a flock without their Shepard. It fucking sucks."

"So you're not even going to listen," Shepard said quietly.

"Watch the vid again! That is, if it's actually _real? _You'll see me right next to James! You've got to stop this! Oh, wait… don't tell me. You think I'm… I'm wasting my time here, aren't I? If I argue with you, you'll decide that_ I'm_ with Cerberus!"

"You had no qualms about joining them before," Shepard accused, folding his arms. _"If _you ever left them, that is."

"Really?" Joker asked with a derisive snort. "Listen to yourself! I seem to remember _you_ having no problem using the Illusive Man to get what you wanted!"

"No," Shepard argued, his tone quiet and guarded. "You were there _before_ me. You didn't need some noble reason like stopping the Collectors – you joined Cerberus because they let you fly! Hell, how could I not see at the time? Of all the mercenary reasons… you didn't even know about Project Lazarus when you joined them! You thought I was still dead!"

"Yeah? So what? The Alliance had grounded me! Cerberus-"

"_Cerberus, _who you once called a bunch of sick bastards, allowed you to _fly. _So what does that say about you_, Joker?"_

The two men stared at each other for a long moment before Joker broke the silence. "All right, that's it. I'm outta here." Joker touched a small panel next to the door and, in desperation, Shepard snatched up a pile of papers from the table and waved them in front of Joker's face.

"Look at this! I was up half the night trying to figure this out! That guy – the one with a test tube up his ass – his name is _Scot Bonifau. _Look!" he ordered, smoothing out the pages and showing them to Joker. "His name is an anagram of _obfuscation! _This is my mind giving me a warning, telling me that something's wrong!"

"Hello?" called Scot over the intercom.

"Let me out," Joker called. "I can't… I can't listen to any more of this."

The four red lights in the corners of the room came on. "Commander, I'm going to need you to step away from the door," Scot requested.

"Think about what I've said!" Shepard urged Joker, his eyes wild. "Listen to me! You need to open your eyes to what's really going on!"

"Commander, you're ranting!" Joker retorted, panic in his voice.

"Commander Shepard, _please _step away from the door," Scot pleaded. "Do that now, and I don't need to make a report. Please, sir. Remember what I said earlier. I'm on your side."

Shepard looked down at the papers in his hand, realising he was panting. "I just want someone to listen to me," he rasped, squeezing his eyes closed. "I'm sorry."

"I _have _listened," Joker groaned. "Please, Commander… think about what you've been saying. It doesn't gel. James… okay, he'd kill me if he knew I'd told you this, but you know he doesn't get along with his family, right? Well, once, after a few beers at Purgatory, he said you were the closest thing he'd ever had to a brother, someone who could help him figure out who he was and where he really wanted to go. It's _killing_ him to see you like this. He _needs_ you, man! You've got this all wrong!"

Shepard exhaled and slowly moved across the room, unable to look Joker in the eye. He heard the door open and he spun around, his eyes still on his papers. "You're… going to come visit again, right?" he mumbled.

"I don't…" he heard Joker say. "I need to… I dunno. Maybe when you're better. Sorry."

The door closed and Shepard watched as the papers fell in slow motion from his hands.


	4. Chapter 4

Shepard was seated at the table, head in hands, when Scot once again entered the room and asked to sit down. This time, however, Shepard – stunned and bewildered after his conversation with Joker – offered no response, and Scot slowly pulled a chair out, keeping one eye on the door as he took a seat. The younger man waited patiently for the commander to speak, but after ten minutes or so, it became clear that Shepard wasn't in the mood.

"Is everything all right, sir?" he asked softly, again to no answer. After waiting another moment, he rose and headed for the door.

"Is it all in my head?" Shepard asked so quietly Scot almost missed it.

Scot sighed and moved closer to Shepard but hung back a little, not wanting to crowd him. "Only you can answer that, sir."

"I thought you were supposed to be helping me," said Shepard, looking up from his hands. "I need to know whether I'm crazy or not. Whether what I remember is real or not. And there are some things I _can't_ remember and I _need _to remember them."

"You'll remember in time," Scot reassured him. "Right now, you're trying to make sense of what happened to you. You're adjusting to a new reality and your mind is fighting against that, because it was so set on the reality it was accustomed to. I know you feel horrible, Commander, but actually, the fact you're uncertain and questioning yourself is a good sign. Try not to be so hard on yourself. The answers _will _come, if you'll let us help you."

Shepard groaned and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "So help me. You said that _Leviathan-" _He paused, remembering what Joker had called the mysterious duo. "Their names are… Radley and… Pickwick?"

Scot nodded, a smile slowly blooming on his face. "Drs. Pickwick and _Bradley_, sir. I can't tell you how glad I am to hear you say that."

"Right. You said they were going to show me something I'd find hard to accept? When are they going to do that? And what exactly are they going to show me?"

Scot released a soft sigh and sat at the table, watching Shepard for a few seconds before he spoke. "I'd prefer for you to see it, sir, and make your own mind up. If I were to tell you, you might not believe it, or be willing to watch the footage."

"What footage?"

"The Normandy is in dry dock right now, and has been taken apart and reassembled. The engineers and techs found… well, as I said, you should see for yourself. Drs. Pickwick and Bradley are off-site right now, but are standing by for when you're ready to view the footage."

"They're not here?" Shepard questioned. "So I don't see their faces again? Who are they? Why can't I see them in person?"

Scot shrugged. "It's just the way things have worked out. I guess I can understand why you'd be suspicious. We'll be speaking to them today – if you're ready to view the footage – but tomorrow they'll be here. How about you speak to them tomorrow? A proper meeting with no sedatives or masks. You'll see they're regular people, just like us."

"All right," Shepard reluctantly agreed. "Well, I'm ready to see this footage, Scot. I'm willing to admit that I was wrong but I _need _proof."

"Of course you do. I don't expect you to take our word for it." Scot rose and gestured for Shepard to do the same. "I'll take you through to next door. Are we gonna be okay? I'm not going to need to restrain or sedate you, am I? And no, that's not a threat. I don't enjoy doing it, Commander."

"What can I do?" Shepard asked. "I don't have a weapon or my omni-tool."

"You have your fists, Commander," countered Scot.

Shepard looked at Scot's nose and left eye, which bore an angry purple bruise. "Yeah… I'm sorry for that," he mumbled. "I know that you guys – whoever you are – can shut me down pretty damn quickly if I try anything. Besides, I don't even know where we are and I can't open any of these security doors. Where would I go?"

Scot moved to the door and opened it with his omni-tool. "I can tell you where we are, sir. We're at the AMTC on Mars."

"AMTC?"

"Alliance Military Trauma Centre."

"Never heard of it."

"That's not surprising," Scot replied as they walked through the doorway. "There's still a stigma attached to PTSD and other mental disorders. All of our patients are treated in the strictest of confidence and, in the majority of cases, are returned to active duty. Outside of family, the only other person informed of the patient's treatment is their commanding officer. The fact you aren't aware of us simply means that none of your crew has been treated here."

"Wait. The only other person informed is the commanding officer?" Shepard questioned. "So how did Joker and James hear about it?"

Scot paused outside the door to the next room. "They were there, sir, at your debriefing," he explained. "They saw what happened. Before he left just now, Lieutenant Moreau told me that he and Lieutenant Vega didn't rest until they'd learned where you'd been taken. The only people aware of your stay here are those two, the asari Liara, and, of course, Admiral Hackett. Lieutenant Moreau said that he, Vega and Liara have fabricated a story to explain your absence to the rest of the crew."

"They're ashamed of me," Shepard mumbled.

Scot ushered Shepard through the door as it opened. "No, sir. I guess they felt that this is something _you_ should decide to share with other people, or not, as the case may be."

The two men took a seat in the room filled with monitors, and Scot touched a few buttons on the console.

"Yes?" said a thin, crackly voice.

"It's Scot, sir. Commander Shepard has agreed to watch the Normandy footage whenever you're ready."

"All right, just give us a while. We're with a patient at the moment. Stand by."

"Yes, sir. We'll be here." Scot cut the comm and turned to Shepard, who was staring at him, eyes narrowed. "What is it, sir?"

"You say these two doctors are off-site? Isn't that a little convenient? And why was his voice all garbled?"

"It's the dust storms," Scot explained. "Communication's never been great on Mars, but we manage. There are other facilities here on Mars, and Pickwick and Bradley are in huge demand. They really are the best at what they do. Again, I can see why you're wondering about them, but there's nothing sinister going on here, Commander. I guess we should have put more thought into how you'd perceive things."

"What other facilities?"

"Well, in this unit we specialise in disorders associated with memory, paranoia, delusions and hallucinations. Drs. Pickwick and Bradley are visiting a unit where the patients are extremely disturbed and pose a high risk to themselves or others. Sadly, the success rate at that centre is not as high as it is here. That's part of the reason the doctors keep a low profile – they can't risk any of the patients learning anything personal about them. That shouldn't be a problem with you, however. You're doing really well, Commander, although it might not seem that way to you."

A lull took the conversation as they waited for the doctors. After some time, Shepard spoke again. "There's one more thing that's been bothering me."

"What's that, sir?"

Shepard held up his hands and looked at them and his arms. "Shouldn't I have been more severely injured? Look at me – I have a few scratches and bruises but I was hit by a Reaper's beam! And don't get telling me it didn't happen – that's one of the few memories I'm _certain _of."

"No one's disputing that," Scot answered. "You were very fortunate. You _were_ caught in the blast but you weren't directly hit by the beam. You escaped with some surface burns as well as several other injuries. When you were first brought in here you were given skin grafts. You've probably noticed that the skin on your left side is quite pink and sensitive."

Shepard nodded in agreement but stayed quiet.

"Your biotic implant was destroyed, however," Scot went on. "It was removed completely and you'll have surgery when you're physically stronger, at a time of your choosing. That's why you can't use your biotics – yes, I _had _noticed you'd tried several times," he added with a knowing smile.

"Huh," Shepard muttered. "So you're still maintaining that I survived the Reaper blast and was uplifted to the Crucible?"

"We're maintaining it because that's what happened, sir. You were seriously injured, but you _did _make it."

"And I'll bet you don't have footage of that, do you?" Shepard challenged.

"Not of that exact moment. The Reaper was somehow interfering with communications, which is why an airstrike was out of the question."

"So how was I able to communicate with Anderson inside the Crucible?"

"Unknown, sir," Scot replied candidly. "We don't have all the answers, either. What I _can_ tell you is that once the Reapers were destroyed, the interference lifted and Allied troops were able to gain access to the Crucible. We _do _have footage of that."

Shepard looked at Scot in alarm and sat forward in his chair. "Can you show me?"

"Of course."

"Wait… don't you need to clear it with your superiors first?"

Scot shook his head. "They told me to show you whatever you ask for, if we have it. The reason they want to be present when I show you the Normandy footage is because they need to explain a few things, and they want to be able to answer any questions you might have. We want you to have as much information as possible, Commander."

"Show me the Crucible footage," Shepard ordered.

"All right." Scot tapped a few instructions into the console and the monitors were filled with grainy images. "It's a little wobbly in places – the guy recording this can be heard speaking, and it's fair to say that everyone was a little upset."

"Why?" Shepard asked.

"Well, see for yourself. I have to warn you, Commander – there's footage of Admiral Anderson on here. You might find it… distressing."

"Play it," Shepard said curtly, mentally bracing himself.

Scot nodded once and entered a final command. The recording, fuzzy at first, finally resolved. Several humans – all wearing Alliance uniform – plus a few turians and krogans, were in the Illusive Man's command centre. Some were standing while others were crouched in groups around two prone bodies. A third body, which appeared to be a human male dressed in a smart suit, was unattended by the soldiers.

"_It's no good, Major!" a frantic voice shouted from the first group. "He's been dead for-"_

"_I want him resuscitated!" ordered a human male with an English accent, who appeared to be the commanding officer. "This is David bloody Anderson! Understand? We are _not _going to lose him! We're not losing either of them!"_

"That's Major Coates," Shepard observed, leaning closer for a better look.

"_Sir, he's dead! We can't do the impossible!"_

"_Shepard! Commander Shepard! We've got him! Major, he's conscious! Wait – no, he's out again… Shepard! I'm Lieutenant Crosby! Can you hear me?"_

"_Major – I'm sorry. Anderson's lost too much blood. He's dead."_

_Major Coates rushed to the side of one of the men treating Anderson and crouched down, grabbing the admiral by the lapels. "David!" he yelled. "Come on!"_

"_Major! Shepard just said something!"_

"_What? What did he say?"_

"_I couldn't understand it, sir! He's in and out of consciousness!"_

_One of the men at Anderson's side clutched Major Coates's arm. "He's _gone_, sir," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry."_

"_I agree, Major," another medic added. "There's nothing more we can do. Please, we should assist with Shepard. We _can _save him."_

_Major Coates stood up, walked over to the Illusive Man's chair and stared at it for a second before kicking it, sending it sliding across the polished floor. "Bollocks!" he growled. "All right – the rest of you men see to Shepard." He then moved to the third body and glowered down at it. "Is this prick definitely dead?" he asked no one in particular, his tone harsh._

"_Yes, sir," one of the soldiers replied with disgust in his voice. "It's a damn shame – would have like to have tortured the bastard."_

_Major Coates grunted, removed his pistol from his belt and unloaded a round into the dead man's body. "Just making sure," he said coldly before throwing the spent pistol at the corpse. "Talk to me."_

"_I think… I think we've stabilised him," one of the medics called, and Coates whipped around, quickly striding to Shepard's side._

"_I need you to be absolutely certain, Lieutenant," Coates urged. "We can't risk moving him until it's safe."_

"_He's stable," echoed another soldier. "We're certain, Major."_

"_Right." Coates activated his earpiece. "Kodiak – we've got Commander Shepard for immediate evac. No. The admiral didn't make it. Yes, I know. Okay. Coates out."_

_There was a pause as the major waited to speak to someone else. "Coates here. I'm sorry, sir, but we couldn't save Anderson. Shepard's responded to treatment and is now stable and awaiting uplift. Yes, sir. All three men sustained gunshot wounds to the abdomen, which we believe caused the deaths of the admiral and the Illusive Man. I will, sir. Thank you."_

_Coates turned back to the men tending to Shepard and sighed. "Admiral Hackett wants you all to know how grateful he is for your care of our men. As am I. I know you've done your best. All right… let's get Shepard ready. The shuttle's on its way. I'll see to Anderson."_

_The major moved to the deceased admiral's side and knelt down next to him, Anderson's face clearly visible, while the activity around Shepard increased._

Noticing Shepard's rigid expression, Scot paused the vid. "I'm sorry, sir," he commiserated. "Would you… like some coffee? I'm going to have a cup."

Shepard silently nodded, not taking his eyes off the monitors. He didn't notice the coffee was in front of him until the steam from the cup began to tickle his nose.

"Well, sir?" Scot asked gently and carefully. "Do you still think we're making this up?"

Shepard reached for his cup and took a sip of the coffee, which tasted as bitter as ashes. He then set it down and moved a hand to his abdomen. "Who shot me?" he asked. "I don't remember that happening."

"We're hoping that you'll be able to tell us eventually, Commander. According to your original statement, you shot Admiral Anderson – while not acting of your own volition – and then shot the Illusive Man. How _you_ got shot is a mystery."

"But I _was_ shot," Shepard whispered in confusion, slipping his hand beneath his shirt and fingering the small, round scar on his belly.

"Yes, sir."

"When? How? Why can't I remember?"

Scot shook his head and shrugged, his eyes full of pity. "I don't know how, sir. But your memories will-"

"Commander Shepard, sorry to keep you waiting," said a voice through Scot's console. "This is Dr. Bradley speaking, and I have Dr. Pickwick with me. Are you ready to view the footage Scot has discussed with you?"

Shepard stayed quiet and glanced at Scot, who answered. "Sir, this is Scot. Commander Shepard is ready, but I should inform you that he's just viewed the footage from the Crucible."

There was a slight pause before Bradley replied. "Okay. And how do you feel about that, Commander?"

"I don't want to discuss it. I'm here to see this 'evidence' of my indoctrination."

Dr. Bradley cleared his throat. "Fair enough, Commander, you've waited long enough."

"You're the manager, right?" Shepard asked, straining to listen to the man's voice, which was distorted by the interference.

"No, sir, I'm the facility supervisor. Dr. Pickwick is the manager."

"I'm here," Pickwick added. "If you have any questions, ask away."

"Let's get started," Shepard directed briskly, feeling confident that what he was about to see was fake. His memories of the Crucible were hazy and dreamlike and he'd found it difficult to point out any contradictions or errors in the footage. He knew every inch of the Normandy, however, and was certain he'd spot something that he could throw back at these people.

"Scot, if you would?" asked Pickwick, and the young man again entered a command into the console, bringing up an image of Shepard's cabin.

"Pause that," Shepard said immediately, and Scot obeyed.

Shepard stood up and leaned as closely as he could to the screens, scrutinising every last detail. Of course Cerberus would know the layout of his cabin, but he'd changed several things since the Normandy had been claimed by the Alliance, so he would know whether he was seeing old footage or not.

As he looked, however, his heart began to sink. Just prior to the Normandy's leap through the Sol relay, Shepard had moved his private terminal to his bed, where he'd gone over the final fleet deployments. The laptop was exactly where he'd left it, as was his empty coffee cup. His N7 hoodie was slung across the back of his armchair, and his bed was neatly made as always. He very rarely slept in it anyway, as it seemed too big and empty – an indictment of neglecting a personal life in favour of his career. His well-worn couch bore testament to the many restless nights he'd spent on it, and his ass-groove – as Joker called it – was clearly visible and carved into the leather on the right-hand side.

Furthermore, he'd purchased a snapper eel on the Citadel only a few weeks earlier, and there it was, swimming happily around the aquarium.

The footage couldn't be more up-to-date.

He stepped back, panic gripping him around the throat like an icy claw.

"Commander?" Scot asked in concern.

"I'm fine. Begin playback," Shepard said around a bone-dry mouth, slumping into his chair.

The vid resumed and showed a section of the wall which had been stripped away, revealing the metallic framework, the endoskeleton of the Normandy. The destroyed wall was surrounded by a faint blue nimbus of light, similar in appearance to the biotic barrier Shepard was capable of erecting around himself and his allies.

"What's that?" asked the commander.

"Look closer," Bradley prompted, and Shepard craned his neck and squinted. "It's protecting what's behind the wall. Or, to be more precise, it's protecting the crew from what's behind the wall."

Shepard's heart momentarily seized up in his chest before beating wildly as his eyes found the top of a small, translucent sphere, which glowed with an iridescent, pulsing light. "What… what the hell?"

"Do you recognise that, Commander?" Bradley asked. "Several more of its kind were found throughout the ship."

"Where?" Shepard rasped.

"The shuttle hangar, Engineering, the CIC, the War Room and sick bay. There were others as well, but they were offline – either they'd malfunctioned or had been deactivated."

"What about the cockpit? The AI core?" Shepard asked, clinging to the hope that Joker had somehow become indoctrinated – therefore rendering the pilot's earlier words invalid.

"Nothing was found in either of those locations, not even an inactive orb, or whatever they're called," Bradley elaborated.

"And the crew quarters?"

"As I said, sir, we only found active orbs at those five locations."

"Okay. You said the shuttle hangar," Shepard went on, encouraged that his hypothesis about James might be correct. "Where Vega and Cortez spent most of their time."

"Apparently, Lieutenant Vega was the one who piqued the engineers' attention," Dr. Pickwick chimed in. "He was being treated by Dr. Chakwas for severe headaches – which she could find no cause for – and reported that they only seemed to occur in certain areas of the ship."

Scot glanced at Shepard, who fell silent, wearing a heavy frown.

"He wasn't the only one," Bradley continued. "Several staff members reported unusual headaches during the last few months of the Normandy's service. Most of them were based in the areas where the orbs were found. From our reports, Lieutenants Cortez and Adams urged the retrofit team to conduct thorough tests on those areas, as omni-tool scans had turned up nothing."

"Why wasn't I informed about this?" Shepard asked himself.

"Maybe the crew thought you had bigger concerns?" Scot ventured. "Our records show that you were being treated by Dr. Chakwas for eczema and acid reflux, which she believed were exacerbated by stress and lack of sleep."

"You have my confidential medical records?" Shepard demanded in disbelief.

"We have everything, sir," Bradley clarified. "Admiral Hackett wants his best soldier treated and returned to him ASAP, and will stop at nothing. I'm sorry if you feel that we're invading your privacy, but Scot could have a point. It's likely that your crew didn't want to trouble you."

"Or they considered me unapproachable," murmured Shepard with what sounded like regret in his voice. "Which is even more likely."

"They respect you, Commander," encouraged Scot. "That's what counts."

Shepard's eyes glazed over and he reached for his cup again, but did not drink from it, only stared at the contents. Yes, his crew respected him – perhaps a little _too_ much. All he'd cared about was accumulating war assets and getting the job done, and he'd pushed himself and his crew hard to achieve that. Very hard. Yes, they respected him – if respect meant they snapped to attention and followed his orders without hesitation – but respect didn't occupy a chair next to him in the mess or fill his empty bed. Had he ever been there for his crew, or been a friend to any of them?

"Sir?" Scot prompted.

"Show me the rest," said Shepard wearily, his stomach roiling.

Over the next several minutes Shepard watched in silent horror as the rest of the footage was played, showing the discovery and containment of the orbs in several sensitive areas of the Normandy. "This couldn't have been accomplished by one person," he said aloud.

"That's what we thought," agreed Bradley. "It would have taken at least a small team to co-ordinate this. Commander – which of your crew had unrestricted access to these areas?"

Shepard clasped his chin and stroked his jaw as he narrowed down a list of names. "Several people… but there was only a handful who had top security clearance as well as access to _all _of those areas."

"Who, Commander?" Scot asked.

"Well, me of course, EDI, Lieutenant Adams, Chief Donnelly, Joker, if he had a mind to… wait. That doesn't explain the War Room. I was the only one with security clearance to enter there, besides any delegates or dignitaries we had on board."

"But the orb was found in the ducts _beneath_ the War Room," Bradley pointed out, and Scot replayed that portion of the vid to remind Shepard.

"Then that only leaves the engineers," Shepard concluded. "Adams…" He shook his head. "No. Adams is Alliance through and through. He refused to join Cerberus. He's out of the equation."

"What about Donnelly?" Pickwick asked. "He _was _with Cerberus, as were EDI and Joker."

"And so was I," Shepard angrily defended. "EDI and Joker were _not _responsible for this."

"Those orbs were similar to the ones you found in Dr. Bryson's lab, with slight alterations," Bradley stated. "The only two crew members with you during your investigations there were Lieutenant Vega and EDI. If you're going to count Vega among your suspects, you need to count EDI, as well."

Shepard jumped to his feet and slammed his palm down on the console. "She was an AI, damn it!"

"So are the Geth," Pickwick pointed out. "Their relationship with the Reapers is well documented. And I need not remind you that EDI was originally programmed by Cerberus."

"Joker removed her AI shackles!" Shepard argued vehemently.

"Do you know that for certain, Commander?" ventured Bradley. "You only have his word for it. Is it possible that Lieutenant Moreau lied to you? That EDI lied to you? She _was _capable of deception."

Shepard turned his back on the monitors, his trembling hands clasped over his nose and mouth. Their claims were outlandish, but no more so than the accusations he'd levelled at James. Their argument ran through his head, and Shepard's assertions now sounded so paranoid, so… outlandish. He'd also accused Joker of joining Cerberus only because they let him fly. Well, that _was_ true. But had Shepard needed much more coaxing than that to abandon the Alliance because they refused to believe the Reapers were a threat?

No. His reasons for working with Cerberus had been just as mercenary as Joker's. Cerberus had offered him unlimited resources, a ship and a crew, and Shepard had accepted them with very little argument. Anything to get the job done.

"Lieutenant Moreau has been with me right from the beginning," he said firmly, turning around and uncovering his face. "If he s_ays_ he removed EDI's shackles, then he _removed _them. I assume the Alliance is investigating the discovery of the orbs aboard the Normandy?"

"That's correct," answered Pickwick.

"Then why the hell are you wasting my time trying to figure out who's responsible?" he demanded. "Let them do their jobs and, oh, why don't you do yours? Aren't you supposed to be demonstrating how I supposedly became indoctrinated?"

Shepard folded his arms and glared at the console, an indignant, righteous fire igniting inside him. The thought that Joker or EDI had been involved in some way was laughable. But that led him to a further conclusion, which did not sit easily with him: He'd been wrong about James.

These people were wrong about Joker and EDI, but the evidence they'd shown him appeared to clear the young marine from any wrongdoing – _if _the footage was real. Whether it was real or not, though, the evidence against James had seemed so compelling to Shepard only a day or so ago, but now it was flimsy at best.

Had these people – whoever they were – been right? Had Shepard suffered a breakdown of some kind? And was he now coming to his senses?

Or was he being manipulated? And for what reason?

"Here, Commander," said Scot, gesturing at Shepard's chair. Shepard took his seat and crossed one leg over the other, his body language and demeanour more assured than Scot had seen since the commander's arrival at the facility. "I'm going to play back some of your personal logs," the young man told him. "You might find what you're about to see disturbing."

"I'm ready," Shepard declared confidently, doubtful of Scot's claim.

Shepard's face, which wore a faint smile, flashed up on the monitors and Scot activated the audio.

"_Vega has gotten a huge N7 tattoo on his back. Hell, I was enthusiastic about joining the programme but he takes it to another level. I'll keep his feet on the ground, though, and continue to tell him he's not all that. I doubt the cocky bastard believes me, though. I think he'll do great."_

"What's so disturbing about that?" Shepard asked Scot.

"I'm just playing a couple of earlier logs, so you can see the contrast between them and the later ones."

"Okay."

The next vid showed a more sombre-looking Shepard, who stared out of the monitor for a minute before speaking:

"_I did something today that… I don't know. If there is a hell, then I might have just secured my place there. It was necessary, though. I've been charged with accumulating as many Allied forces as I can, and that's exactly what I've done. This is my _job. _I'm glad Mordin saw sense in the end. I thought for a moment I'd have to… okay. That's enough. End recording."_

"Next one," Shepard ordered, his tone defensive.

Sensing Shepard's discomfort, Scot quickly brought the next vid up.

"_Got another damn headache. I snapped at EDI earlier because she kept asking questions about what humans would do in certain situations, and my head was pounding… ha, you already know this, don't you, EDI? She gave me a great comeback. Serves me right. I'm gonna eat in my cabin again today. I'm not sure I'd want to be around me at the moment. I guess this crew's getting used to the fact that their commander's an asshole. So long as they remember who's in charge."_

Scot glanced at Shepard, who'd taken his eyes off the monitors and was examining his coffee cup, appearing troubled.

"You want me to play the next one, sir?"

Shepard nodded, heavy frown lines etched on his brow as he looked up.

"_Can't sleep. My head… I-I dreamed about him again. The funniest thing happened. I was in Engineering earlier, not even sure why I was there, I just felt… drawn… well, I saw him on the walkway above the engine core. At least… I think I did. Maybe… maybe it was a dream? I need to get some sleep. Take some down time. But I can't. There's so much to do. I keep snapping at everyone. I see this look in their eyes, like they're automatons and they carry out my orders but don't really want to… I need to start instilling into people how important this mission is because I don't think they're taking it seriously enough. They're telling me they need shore leave. Well, you know what? The people of Earth don't get shore leave, and this is who we're doing it for! EDI, schedule a conference for zero six-hundred hours. All senior staff. They need to be told."_

"That's enough," Shepard said quietly, and Scot paused the vid. "Okay, I was… rambling, there. And I was irritable with the crew. That's no secret. But it doesn't prove I was indoctrinated. Exhausted, maybe."

"Commander," Bradley said, re-joining the conversation. "Even then, you were showing signs of paranoia, and there's evidence of hallucinations."

"It could have been a trick of the light. Migraines can cause visual disturbances. I was getting a lot of migraines."

"Do you remember seeing the boy in Engineering?" Bradley asked.

"I'm… not sure what I saw."

"And you mention being 'drawn' to Engineering," Bradley added. "In later personal logs you mention being similarly drawn to other places on the ship – the shuttle bay, the CIC, even when you weren't needed there. A few times you mention finding yourself in the War Room with no clear memory of how you got there. There are more sightings of the boy. You also mention being drawn to sick bay but you fought against going there. Why was that, sir? Why didn't you tell Dr. Chakwas about the headaches, the hallucinations, the feelings of persecution? The blackouts, because that's what they were?"

Shepard blew out a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know. It just seemed… normal. I didn't question it. I… can see now that I was ill, but at the time…"

"Commander, all of those symptoms – headaches, paranoia, isolation, hallucinations, blackouts, irritability – as well as _acceptance _of those symptoms, are commensurate with indoctrination," Pickwick explained. "Sure, some of them can be explained away by physical or mental fatigue, but you were constantly drawn to the locations where the orbs were found, and often couldn't remember how you got there. We can show you more personal logs if you need further proof. There are dozens of them, and they don't make light viewing."

"No," Shepard mumbled. "I remember them. I…" He stood up and looked at the door. "I need to lie down. I don't feel-"

Scot sprang from his chair and caught Shepard around the waist as his knees buckled, and guided him back to the chair. "Sirs, Shepard needs some rest," he told his superiors. "He hasn't eaten anything."

"All right, Scot, take care of him. Try to encourage him to eat. We'll talk later. Bradley out."

"Why-why am I getting a headache now?" Shepard gasped, clutching his head as a searing pain shot through it. "I don't even have an implant… damn!"

"It's okay, sir," Scot soothed as he rushed to prepare a syringe. "I'm going to give you a shot. Please don't fight me."

"I won't, just make it stop," pleaded the commander, his face contorted in agony.

"Hold still, sir. It'll be over in a second."

~o~O~o~

**Later that day**

"I think he's ready for Hackett," the manager decided as they watched Shepard sleeping through the two-way mirror.

The supervisor folded his arms. "No. I disagree."

"Reasons?"

"_Reasons?" _repeated the supervisor. "Don't you think he's got enough shit going around in his head after what he's seen today?"

"Yeah, and this is exactly the right time for him to speak with Hackett. He's doubting himself. He's wondering whether we've been right all along. And have you noticed that he hasn't referred to us as Cerberus today? We need to capitalise on this. Talking to Hackett will give him his focus back."

"Not yet," the supervisor insisted. "At least let the poor bastard get some sleep."

"You seem to forget that we have a job to do here, and we don't have much time to do it!" argued the manager, squaring up to the larger man. "Do I need to bring the boss in on this?"

"_Don't_ threaten me," hissed the supervisor. "The boss will say the same damn thing. Yeah, we need to get results, but not at the cost of Shepard's sanity. He said himself that this can't be rushed!"

"He said that, but I'm getting update requests from him every half an hour. He's putting the screws on us."

"I don't care what he's doing! Shepard is a _person! _Maybe your ambition has made you lose sight of that? He'll crack again if we're not careful!"

The manager pushed his jaw out in defiance but did not argue. "All right. Scot. You've spent more time with him than us. What do you think? Is he ready or not?"

Both men turned to the young man, who was standing a short distance from them. Scot moved closer to them and watched Shepard for a moment. "My opinion is, we should let him get a little more sleep and then some food. But… I also think he's ready. He's _very _strong-willed. This could give him the proverbial kick in the pants."

The supervisor glared at both men. "Okay," he huffed, moving to the door. "I'll just sit in here and shut the hell up."

"And while you're shutting the hell up, there is a _problem _in the Sol system, in case you'd forgotten?" retorted the manager. "We need to get Shepard's ass out there, not to baby him!"

"Whatever," came the reply as the door slid closed, leaving Scot and the manager alone.

"Have some food sent in," ordered the manager, "and wake Shepard up. _Gently," _he added sourly with a glance at the door. "I'll have Hackett on standby."


	5. Chapter 5

Shepard blinked several times and shielded his eyes from the harsh light that burned into them.

"Sir, it's me, Scot. Sorry to wake you."

Shepard slowly pushed himself up and swung his legs around so he was sitting on the edge of his bed. "What is it?" he grumbled, clutching his head.

"You've been out for almost six hours and you need to eat something," Scot explained, gesturing to the table, where a hearty meal, dessert and drinks had been laid out. "Your headache's probably exacerbated by dehydration – you haven't eaten today and all you've had to drink is a cup of coffee."

"I _am_ hungry," Shepard admitted, and Scot placed a hand on the commander's elbow before leading him to the table, where they both sat down. Scot waited for a while until Shepard had eaten about half of his meal before clearing his throat.

"There's… something else. Another reason for waking you."

"Hm?"

Scot wondered what the commander's reaction to his news would be, but decided Shepard would not appreciate him beating about the bush. "Admiral Hackett wants to speak to you, sir."

Shepard paused, his forkful of food held next to his half-open mouth. "What?"

"He's been asking for progress reports since you were brought here, Commander, and wants to speak to you as soon as you're fit. We feel you've made enough progress to be ready, sir."

A thousand hot and cold pinpricks stabbed at Shepard's skin and he slowly lowered his fork, a stinting breath rushing out of him. "What… what does he want?"

"He's commander of the Fifth Fleet, sir. We don't get to ask him what he wants," Scot pointed out. "I'm sorry if this is a shock to you."

"No," Shepard mumbled. "I should have expected it. I guess he wants to talk about the stranded fleets. I just…" He sighed and stared at his plate.

"I'm sure he doesn't hold you responsible for what happened," Scot reassured, noticing that Shepard was on edge.

"I don't _remember _what happened. How can I defend myself against something like that?"

"Admiral Hackett has been fully apprised and is aware of your memory loss, sir. He might not even mention the incident in question. He probably has more pressing matters to attend to," guessed Scot.

Shepard pushed the food around his plate for a minute before setting his fork down and taking a large gulp of sweet tea. "When does he want to see me?" he asked, and blotted his mouth with a napkin.

"He's standing by right now, sir."

Shepard's eyes widened and he frowned at the younger man. "I would have appreciated more warning than this, Scot," he reprimanded. "I need to be prepared."

Scot shrugged. "He's a busy man, Commander. I'm guessing you didn't have time to stand around waiting for someone to call when you were on active duty."

"No, I guess not," Shepard conceded with a sigh, smoothing out his rumpled clothing. "Do I, uh, look okay?"

"You could probably use a shave," smiled Scot. "I'll have to do it for you, though."

"Yeah, I know. No razors for the whackjob," Shepard deadpanned.

Scot chuckled and rose before heading for the door. "You'll do fine, sir. And… it's good to see you a little more… I dunno. Relaxed. I'll be back in a minute and I'll bring a change of clothing. Please try to finish your meal."

~o~O~o~

A shaved and spruced-up Shepard waited in front of the viewscreen. He'd changed his mind half a dozen times over whether he should stand or sit, and finally opted to sit, feeling more secure with the table between him and the screen. He was always so sure of himself and of what was going to happen in the next few minutes but here, he was completely in the dark. He was accustomed to being in control, and didn't like the way the loss of that control made him feel.

"What's the hold up?" he asked the two-way mirror.

"He might have been called away for something," Scot answered through the intercom. "Oh, wait… he's back, sir. Are you ready?"

"I guess so," Shepard muttered, his stomach tightening.

"You'll do fine, sir," Scot encouraged. "I'll give you some privacy. Just touch the panel on the door when you're done."

The comm was cut and Shepard looked at the four red lights in each corner of the room, which went out one by one. Before he could take a breath or gather himself, the screen was activated and the face of his commanding officer stared out at him.

"Commander Shepard," said the elderly admiral in a crisp tone.

Shepard's eyes homed in on Hackett's right cheek, which was mildly swollen and bruised, as was the right eye. A sense of cold dread settled over him. Had he really been responsible for that?

"Commander Shepard," Hackett repeated more firmly. "You will stand to attention."

Feeling as though he was in a trance, Shepard stood up and snapped a salute. "Yes, sir."

The admiral returned the salute and paused for a beat before resuming. "Your doctors tell me you're doing well. How are you feeling?"

"As well as can be expected, sir," Shepard said blankly, his eyes still on Hackett's cheek.

"Glad to hear it," replied the admiral. "Just keep co-operating with them and we'll have you out of there as soon as possible." He paused again for a second before straightening his posture. "Commander, I'll be frank with you. We have a situation here that I could use your help with. I understand you've been told about the fleets stranded in the Sol system?"

"Yes, sir, I have."

"I realise you're not in the best shape, Shepard, and I'm not ordering you to do anything while you're on medical leave. But I'm guessing this is something you won't walk away from. Any insight you provide could prove invaluable."

"I… have been thinking about the situation, but I don't see how I could be of any use in here," Shepard began.

"Which is precisely why we need you out _here_. You were the one who brokered treaties between races who held grudges going back for centuries. You got the quarians and the geth to work together, for God's sake. I suspect your methods were sometimes… unorthodox, but you got the job done, and that's all I care about. You're the only one who can talk to these people. We don't have the resources at present to offer any aid to them, but I know you'll deliver, Shepard, as you always have, if you feel up to it."

"I'll do what I can, sir," mumbled Shepard, his mind racing.

"Good. The biggest problem is the quarians. Their dextro rations won't last forever. The turians are in the same boat, but they don't have the health concerns the quarians do."

"Right," Shepard agreed. "The quarians use a lot of resources to keep their environment sterile. Plus there are regular inoculations, health workups, vitamin supplements, maintenance of their envirosuits… we'd put in regular requisition orders for Tali'Zorah and the Admiralty when they were on board the Normandy. Anything not covered by those orders could be purchased on the Citadel. Only… that's no longer an option."

"And the quarians are going to come up empty-handed if they try to procure any of those resources now," said Hackett gravely. "Unfortunately for them, the wounded and the Alliance troops take precedence in that regard."

Shepard clasped his chin and glanced at the floor as several options presented themselves to him. He nodded or shook his head as he eliminated some before looking back at the screen. "Their scientists must already be working on this, but they're going to need outside help. I believe the salarians could be useful, sir. Dr. Mordin Solus is alive – I spoke with him before we made the final push for the beam. If he can assemble a team, we can set up a conference with the quarians. We'll bring in the turians, too – this'll benefit them as well."

Shepard continued to silently mull over his proposal for a minute or two. "I'm certain we can make this work," he assured the admiral. "The salarians have some of the finest scientific minds in the galaxy, the quarians are tech experts, plus there's no animosity between their races. And the salarians owe me big. They'll play ball," he said with steely assuredness.

Hackett nodded once, appearing pleased to see Shepard so focused. "I want you at that conference, Commander. If the quarian and turian food problem can be solved, that's a huge leap forward."

"What's the current status of the quarian fleets?" Shepard asked.

"Most of the Heavy Fleet was wiped out, so the majority of the quarian contingent is comprised of civilians, as well as science and medical vessels."

"Many quarian ships not in the Heavy Fleet are old and some are approaching obsolescence," Shepard pondered. "They're going to need repairs and upgrades if they'll be remaining in this system for… well, who knows how long?" He fell silent as he considered the young boy he'd imagined talking to on the Crucible. He still didn't trust the memory, but something the child had said – concerning the end of all synthetic life if the Reapers were destroyed – hit home with him now. "How did the geth come through this, sir?"

Hackett shook his head and sighed. "The entire geth fleet has gone dark, and their ships appear adrift. We're hypothesising that the energy pulse which destroyed the Reapers also neutralised the geth."

"That would make sense," Shepard said quietly, nodding. "Then we need to get dedicated salvage teams together to board the geth vessels – the quarians will readily agree to that. The geths' technology has probably been rendered useless but their ships, as well as their physical platforms, can be taken apart and used for repairs to the quarian fleet. The geth resources would outweigh the quarians' several times over."

"This is why we need _you_, Shepard," Hackett said forcefully, pointing at the commander. "You know these races like no one else. You've served with a representative from most known races – save the batarians and hanar – and have intimate knowledge of them that the rest of us don't. The only thing I don't understand is why the krogans withdrew their support at the last minute," he mused. "Still, it saves us a headache now. One less fleet to worry about."

Shepard's eyes glazed over and he continued to stare at the screen, but he no longer saw Hackett. Instead, the face of Urdnot Wrex – his former friend – filled his vision. Someone else he'd betrayed. All to get the job done. But on that particular occasion it had backfired – Wrex had learned of Shepard's deal with the dalatrass and had confronted him on the Citadel. And Shepard had been forced to kill the warrior who'd once embraced him as a brother and a friend to all krogan.

"That's on me, sir," Shepard uttered quietly, his actions not seeming as sound as they had at the time – when amassing allies and troops for the war was all that mattered. "There could be future repercussions from some of the decisions I made."

"To be honest, Commander, that's the least of my concerns at the moment. The krogans are now on the other side of a relay that no longer functions. We'll deal with any fallout if and when it arises. I need your full attention on the matter at hand."

"You have it, sir," said Shepard, bolstered by the admiral's faith in him. Glancing up at the screen, the bruising to Hackett's face again leapt out at him, and he felt himself break out into a sweat, but remained outwardly poised.

Hackett remained quiet for a moment but a hint of a smile graced his weathered features. "That's what I like to hear, Shepard. Can I count on your support in this?"

"Absolutely, sir. I'll need information on numbers, deployments, damage reports, as much as you can provide," he said, counting on his fingers.

"I'll have the relevant data sent to you immediately," Hackett began.

"There's a problem, though, sir. I don't have my omni-tool. It was taken from me."

Hackett grunted and looked to his side as someone off-screen sought his attention. "I'll have someone speak to the facility administrators. I'm sure it can be returned to you in a modified form. Commander, I'm needed elsewhere, so I'll talk to you again later. What I need from you is an action plan for the quarians, turians, salarians, asari and all other fringe races. But the quarians _must_ be dealt with first. There's no point fixing their ships if they're going to starve to death or be laid low by our diseases."

"Understood," Shepard replied. "Sir?" he asked quickly, just as Hackett was about to sever their connection.

"Yes, Commander?"

Shepard sighed and moved his jaw from side to side as he struggled to find the right words. "Your cheek. I don't completely remember what happened at the debriefing, sir, but if I was responsible for that…"

"Take a good look at my face, son," Hackett replied, pointing out a huge scar that ran along his forehead and the bridge of his nose. "It's nearly been ripped clean off on more than one occasion. The First Contact wars, the vorcha… even a pack of wild varren gave it a shot once, but I'm still here. A broken cheekbone is a minor irritation in comparison. You weren't yourself at the time and I'm just glad to see that you're getting better. _Keep _getting better. That _is_ an order. We need you, Shepard."

"Yes, sir," Shepard answered with conviction, giving a salute for the second time. "And… thank you."

"I'll be in touch shortly," replied the admiral, mirroring the gesture. "Hackett out."

Shepard watched as the admiral's image faded before taking a seat and resting his chin on his hands, finally realising how ludicrous his claims of Hackett's indoctrination had been. If Hackett was with Cerberus, _why_ would he want to help the alien fleets?

He sighed, squeezing his eyes closed and rubbing them hard. The accusations he'd levelled at the people closest to him – the ones who'd turned a blind eye to his excesses of violence, shady deals and dubious morals – now seemed like the ravings of a madman. _Was_ he mad? Or was he now recovering from madness, from a sickness of the mind? The debriefing now seemed so distant, like it had happened several years ago. Almost like a dream. Had he dreamt it? Had it really happened at all?

The only thing he knew for sure was that speaking with Hackett had lit a fire under his ass, and he felt more clear-headed than he had in a long time. He couldn't allow the gaps in his memory to affect the job he had to do – those fleets were depending on him.

"That's enough," he said to himself, shaking off the last of his doubts. He pushed his chair back and strode to the door, touching the small communication panel.

"Everything okay, sir?" Scot asked through the intercom. "All done?"

"We're done," Shepard confirmed. "Scot, I'm going to need some writing material, or a blank datapad if you'll allow me one. I've got a lot of work to do. You'll be getting a request from Alliance Command concerning the return of my omni-tool."

"That's fine, sir, but you have to understand that you won't have access to your omni-blade, scanning or hacking tools, and you won't be allowed communication with the outside for now. We _can _overrule Alliance Command on that."

"I don't need any of those things," Shepard replied, surprising Scot with his conciliatory tone. "Just the information Hackett's going to send me about the fleets. I'm going to fully co-operate with you, Scot. For real. I need to get back on duty and out in front of the new threat facing our system. I'll do whatever it takes."

Behind the two-way mirror, Scot grinned and deactivated the privacy controls on Shepard's room. "That's great to hear, Commander," he said sincerely. "Is there anything else you need?"

"Yeah. I… need to speak with Lieutenants Moreau and Vega, if they'll still listen to me."

"I'll send a visit request right away, sir."

"Thanks."

"I'll be in shortly with a datapad for you," Scot promised. "You want some coffee?"

"Sure do," replied Shepard.

"Sir?" Scot asked, and Shepard looked at the two-way mirror. "It's good to have you back, Commander," Scot finished.

Shepard nodded once in Scot's direction before taking a seat at the table, already formulating strategies in his head.

"It's good to be back."

~o~O~o~

A few hours later, Scot entered Shepard's room to find the commander furiously entering information into his datapad, his brow wrinkled in concentration.

"I have your omni-tool here, Shepard," Scot said, laying the device on the table.

"Great," Shepard replied before attaching the omni-tool to his arm and entering a few commands. "Sit down," he invited Scot, who did as requested, and watched as several long lists of statistics appeared, suspended in mid-air.

"Wow, that's a _lot_ for you to do," commented Scot. "Not that I understand what any of it means."

"It's nothing classified, just data about the fleets. Casualty and damage reports, fleet positions and so on," Shepard related. "I'm glad you decided I was ready to speak to Hackett. There's no time to lose on this."

"It went well, then, sir? Your talk with him? I'm not asking for details, just-"

Shepard nodded quickly. "We've put it behind us, what happened… not that I remember what happened." He looked up from his omni-tool for a second. "Do you think that will affect anything? My memory lapses? I can work here for now, but I'll need to get out of here and start communicating with the fleet commanders. Soon."

"Drs. Pickwick and Bradley are working on that. They've had instructions from Hackett to expedite your release, although not at a cost to your wellbeing. They're conducting a review right now, which is why they haven't been in to visit you."

Shepard's eyes narrowed infinitesimally, but he knew questioning Scot on the doctors' continued failure to present themselves in person would not help him. He shrugged and returned to his work.

"Uh, by the way, Commander, we had a response to your visit requests."

Shepard paused and looked up again, his fingers stilled above the tiny console on his omni-tool. "And?" he asked hopefully.

"Lieutenant Moreau has agreed to visit."

Shepard nodded slowly before releasing a quiet sigh. "Well, that's one more than I expected."

"It might be that Lieutenant Vega is busy with his new duties," Scot surmised with a glint in his eye. "And he _has_ just been awarded the Conspicuous Gallantry Cross by the Alliance Navy."

"He has?" Shepard asked, a proud and genuine smile forming.

Scot nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, sir, as has your gunnery chief, Garrus Vakarian. They made the announcements this morning. Several members of your crew have received honours, but those two are the ones everyone's buzzing about." He leaned closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I hear that the Alliance has something in mind for you, too, sir, but I'm not supposed to say anything," he added with a wink.

Shepard frowned, not quite sure how to feel about that. "They shouldn't bother. I was just doing my job," he muttered dismissively.

"These announcements are good for morale," Scot pointed out. "The Reapers are gone but there's no time to celebrate – it's business as usual out there. Things like this remind everyone what we fought for. Besides, you wouldn't say that Vega or Vakarian were just 'doing their jobs', would you?"

"No, I wouldn't," agreed Shepard. "Speaking of Garrus – would you send him a visit request? And Kaidan Alenko?"

"Garrus is with the Turian Admiralty at the moment, sir, and I believe Major Alenko has returned to Alliance Command, so I'm afraid they won't be able to visit with you at present."

"Kaidan's gone? Then who's commanding the Normandy?"

"Lieutenant Vega, sir," Scot provided. "As next in ranking order to you, he's your acting XO. Most of the rest of your crew is assisting with relief efforts and have been temporarily assigned wherever their skills will prove most useful. You _have_ technically been relieved of duty, sir, but your name hasn't been removed from the manifest."

"Huh. How do you know all this?"

"Well, we knew you might want some of your crew to visit you, so we've been keeping tabs on their movements, with Admiral Hackett's blessing. All of your senior staff – with the exception of Lieutenant Cortez – survived, but only Lieutenants Vega and Moreau remain on the Normandy at present, which is why they're able to visit so frequently. She's in orbit around Mars."

Shepard glanced down at his hands and idly picked at his fingernails as he wondered how Vega was faring after the death of his friend. He knew he had to make a good impression on Joker when he arrived, and hoped to convince the pilot to persuade James to visit him as well – Shepard needed to make amends to the young marine who'd had his back so many times.

"When will Joker arrive?" he asked.

"Early this evening. Should give you plenty of time to work. Just take a break now and then, okay?" Scot stood up and moved towards the door. "I'll leave you to it, sir. Holler if you need anything."

"Scot?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Thanks. You know. Just… thanks," Shepard mumbled before turning his attention to his omni-tool again.

"No problem, sir," Scot answered cheerfully before exiting the room. Upon returning to his console outside, a winking light informed him he had an incoming message. He pressed a small panel and a holographic image of the facility manager appeared in front of him.

"Report."

"He's very focused and has accepted the absence of his crew without question," Scot communicated.

"Good. Is he working on the quarian situation?"

"Yes, sir, he is. He's made it his top priority."

"I'm glad to hear that, Scot, because we can't afford any more mistakes at this stage," said the manager in a hostile tone. "Know what I mean?"

Scot hung his head and sighed. "I know I dropped the ball on the Crucible footage, sir-"

"Dropped the ball? It's a little more serious than that! How could there be krogan on the Crucible if they pulled out of the war? Jesus! You're damn lucky Shepard was too upset over Anderson to notice! You're _supposed _to be a technical genius. I hope for your sake we're not going to regret bringing you in on this. The boss does _not _tolerate mistakes."

"I know," Scot said seriously. "There won't be any more. You can count on me, sir."

"Yeah, I hope so. This is nearly over. We pull this off, and we've got it made. Let's _not _drop the ball again."

"No, sir!" Scot exclaimed, saluting the manager before the comm was abruptly cut off.

~o~O~o~

Shepard looked up from his datapad as Joker entered the room and realised that he had no idea what to say to his pilot.

"Shepard," Joker said flatly as he looked warily at the table, which was strewn with scribbled notes.

"I… haven't been making anagrams again," Shepard quipped mirthlessly.

Joker gave an exaggerated nod, his eyes everywhere but on Shepard. "Cool. So… you wanted to see me?"

"Sit down, Joker," Shepard quietly invited.

"Okay. So if I say no does that mean I'm with Cerberus?" asked the pilot acidly. "Or is it if I say yes? 'Cause the last time I was here-"

"I don't think you're with Cerberus." Shepard switched off his omni-tool and gestured to the chair opposite him.

For a minute or so, the two men watched each other, neither appearing sure of their next move until Joker frowned and tilted his head slightly.

"Have they been treating your scars?" he asked, inching slightly closer to the commander and craning his neck.

"I… don't think so." Shepard touched his jaw and looked confused as he stroked along it. "Do they look better, then? They feel kinda… smoother."

"Yeah, they look a lot better," Joker commented before they fell into another uncomfortable silence.

"Listen, Joker-"

"What you said the last time I was here was fucked up."

"I know."

"I get that you've had _problems_, you know?" said Joker, tapping the side of his head, "but how long have we known each other? How much have we been through together?" he demanded, sounding hurt. "How many friends have we lost? You think I went through all that crap just to screw you over? Seriously, Shepard?"

"Sit down," Shepard invited again. "Please, Joker."

Joker huffed and shook his head before reluctantly pulling a chair out and sitting at a right angle to Shepard.

"They think I was indoctrinated," began the commander.

Joker crossed his arms. "Yeah, no shit."

"I… think maybe they were right."

Joker looked up from under his cap and arched an eyebrow. "Why?"

"They showed me some stuff. Some of my personal logs. I sounded like… well. Delusional."

"Okay," Joker mumbled. "And do you remember recording the logs, or do you think they were made up, or planted in your head? Oh, and _that _doesn't sound delusional at all, either, right?"

Shepard shook his head. "No. I remember recording the logs." He examined his hands for a few moments before sitting up straight. "They found some devices on the Normandy, similar to the ones we found during the Leviathan investigation."

"Right. And this is where you tell me about Vega's master plan to give the Normandy over to the Reapers, am I close?"

"I was wrong about James," Shepard admitted calmly.

Joker rested his head on his hand and snorted. "Finally." He looked up at Shepard again. "So why the sudden change of heart?"

"I think I've been very sick," said Shepard candidly. "When I first found myself in here, I was convinced that they were all Cerberus. God, I probably would have believed my own mother was Cerberus at the time. I had all this shit in my head, some of it crystal clear and some of it hazy. I didn't know what to believe. The stuff that was clearest in my head seemed so ridiculous, so far-fetched, and the things I _wanted_ to believe – the things that _would_ make sense – were… well, it was like they were blocked, or only there in glimpses, like a dream."

"And you don't feel that way now?" Joker asked.

"I don't know. Now _all _of it seems like a dream. Whenever I think about what happened – or didn't happen – on the Crucible, the memory seems to fade each time. But maybe that's a good thing. I just feel a lot calmer. It's funny, I've had this headache for the longest time, just lingering at the back of my head. But after speaking to Hackett, it's gone, like a veil's been lifted from my eyes. Now, all I can think about is what Hackett and I discussed."

"You mean the problem with the fleets?" Joker asked, and Shepard nodded.

"There's so much to consider – how to feed everyone, how long their fuel will last, and so on. Eventually we'll need to start thinking about equipping some ships for a very long journey home, which could take years, and fixing the Sol relay. When those people arrive at their home worlds, they'll need the materials to rebuild their own relays."

"Sounds like an impossible situation," Joker remarked evenly. "The kind you're best at."

"The kind _we're _best at," corrected Shepard.

One edge of Joker's mouth twitched. "So, you come up with anything yet?"

"Well, let me show you." Shepard activated his omni-tool and brought up several small screens containing various data on the fleets. Shepard watched as Joker absorbed the information and made several exclamations, as well as a few long whistles.

"Boy, you got your work cut out, Shepard."

"I always knew, you know."

Joker did a double-take at Shepard and frowned. "Huh?"

"I knew you wouldn't screw me over. Deep down, I knew. I just… my head was all over the place. I knew that James wouldn't, either. But I couldn't stop myself. It was like I was someone else, like I was being controlled by something. Well, it seems I was."

"That an apology, Commander?"

Shepard folded his arms, sat back and pursed his lips. "It's as close as you'll get to one, mister."

Both men's eyes met. Slowly, and in unison, they began to laugh, and Joker reached for the commander's hand. "Now _that's _the Shepard I remember."

"Maybe," answered Shepard, gripping Joker's hand and shaking it firmly before releasing it. "Maybe I'm a little different. We'll see."

Joker pointed at the floating data on the fleets. "Turn that off, will you? It's making my brain hurt."

"Sure thing." Shepard deactivated his omni-tool and they shared a moment of silence.

"You hear about James?" Joker asked after a pause.

"Yeah, I heard," confirmed Shepard with a nod. "Can't think of anyone more deserving. I hear he's commanding the Normandy for now. How's that working out?"

Joker's expression sobered slightly and he gave an apathetic shrug. "He's really thrown himself into it. I guess he's still messed up over Cortez and, well, other stuff. He's a real hardass, like Shepard mark two."

Shepard's face dropped and he leaned forward over the desk. "What do you mean?"

"Hey, I was kidding," Joker began, holding his hands up.

"I didn't take offence, Joker. Tell me about him," Shepard ordered, his expression grim.

"Well… he's not getting enough sleep, I'm sure of that. And he's drinking. Not on duty, mind you, but a lot more than he used to. And he's running that ship with an iron hand. I think he doesn't want for you to return and find that everyone's slacking. He's trying to be like you, I guess, in his own way, but it's not _him_, you know?"

Shepard pushed himself up and stood facing away from Joker for a moment before he started to pace. "I need to speak to him."

"Commander, he wouldn't come," said Joker with a sigh. "Every time I mentioned it he just changed the subject. I tried to persuade him, but-"

"Try harder," Shepard ordered firmly.

"Look, if he doesn't want to visit, then I can't force him."

"I don't want him to be like me!" Shepard exclaimed. "He's just been decorated with one of the Alliance's highest honours. I don't want him to take the same path as me. He's better than that."

Joker watched as the commander paced for a while longer before taking his seat again. "Joker, please, do whatever you can. I _have _to speak with him."

"Maybe when you're back on the Normandy?" the pilot suggested. "From what I hear, that shouldn't be too long."

"My feet won't touch the ground once I'm back on the Normandy," Shepard guessed. "I probably won't even be aboard her much. I need James at a hundred percent. I need to say sorry to him, to have a good fight with him and to buy him a drink, as my ornery flight lieutenant once pointed out. I need to see him _now._"

"Ornery? Speak for yourself," Joker scoffed.

"Most importantly, I need him to take his own path," said Shepard earnestly. "I do _not _want him emulating me. That's the last thing I want, and the last thing he needs."

Joker groaned and sat back, staring at the ceiling as he considered Shepard's words. "All right, I'll try," he replied. "Don't count on it, though."

"I'm counting on you, Joker," Shepard asserted. "Don't let me down."

"Aw, crap. I was afraid you'd say that."


End file.
